The Fate of Us
by CalicoKahlia
Summary: This story is centered on our dear friend Nick as he traipses through the world, unknowing of what happened to his family and friends after the season 3 finale. May contain spoilers, would not read if you haven't finished with the third season. May contain mature themes, violence, language and sexual situations. AU, because of pairings. Troy/Nick (assumed and bloomed) TRICK.
1. Searching

The sun was making its lazy trek back down the horizon. It had been no more than 6 hours but no less than 4 since the dam erupted.

Nick limped along the canal, down river from the explosion site. Fate was a fickle bitch. The thought whipped through his mind again that he'd have rather died up there on that bridge. He had actually thought of jumping through one of the holes torn in the chainlink. Let the water take him; wash away his sins along with his life.

Now, he wasn't really sure what he was seeking. He knew the Zodiac that Victor, Alicia and his mother were in ended up getting sucked through the chasm in the dam. Chasm. His brain lingered on the word. Washed down river. He hadn't hoped to find any of them alive. But, he needed to know. If he was looking for a person, or a body, or their body, up and walking, souless now.

He didn't much care to find his mother. _Chasm._ The word echoed around his skull. He continued to walk lazily down the side of the canal; the water was still flowing, but at a much more meandering pace now. He would find absolution, if he found her though. Whether she be alive, or dead, or undead. She was dead to him now.

She had finally come full-circle. Unleashed the person she had always secretly been. Feeding the beast that always secretly craved, even before this new life.

Troy had been the breaking point. Madison had been the dam, Troy had been the C-4. Strapped to the walls, just waiting on Madison to make that decision. To push that button and let all the water, her real self, through. Of course, Troy had never been a good man. But, he was becoming something more.

If Nick had looked forward, just a few days ago, he couldn't have imagined a day at the Bazarr, or in the truck, out in this mindless, hot sand of a wasteland that is Mexico, without Troy by his side. They had come far together. And Nick couldn't, wouldn't express the pain he felt as the hammer made contact with his cheek. Couldn't, wouldn't express the sheer rage he felt at the woman who'd given him life, especially when she was taking what made his life meaningful, right in front of him.

Sure, there were ups and downs. _You share the same self destruction._ He'd heard his sisters voice again. But, Nick made Troy better, and Troy challenged Nick. It was a feast of emotions that you just had to be in it to understand. They were like fire and gasoline. But some things needed to be set on fire. Nick would've set the world on fire with Troy.

He coasted down the canal, passing under bridges, not much sign of the dead. Although there were locals out in abundance. Praising the gods and filling buckets with the dirty water. Limbs, trash, bodies floating lazily down stream. He inspected every one. Hoping beyond hope that he would find his sister, at least. Or something that would perhaps lead to her.

She didn't deserve this. Strand? Probably. Madison? Definitely. Alicia? Not a chance. Alicia had been the good egg. The last hope for humanity in this lifeless apocolypse. Sure, they had all made some hard choices. But, Licia had that morality still about her, even now. _Well, even then,_ he thought, grimacing. He just needed to know.

The canal came to a split then, left towards the business district of the town, and right towards the more urban area. The signs of life diminished. Replaced by the dead. Not many, most had stalked towards the sound of the explosion, and the rippling after effects as the concrete damn opened. He continued to the right, pulling his knife from his waist band to grant a last act of mercy to those wandering the earth, hungry but never full.

Its what he came across next that made him stop in his tracks.


	2. Reunion

Nick stopped his trek entirely.

About 30 yards ahead of him stood a taller, leaner, familliar figure. He knew all too well.

His breath hitched in his throat. The figure continued to walk, a minor limp with a slight drag of their right leg. The gait of the undead.

Nick inched forward, not really sure if he wanted to close the distance.

Their clothes were slightly damp from the water they must've crawled out of. A faded light denim button up discolored by blood and dust. A mop of dishwater blonde curls atop its head. Still walking away from him. Still, step, drag, step.

Nick cautiously put his hand on his blade handle, moving closer, quietly.

If the two blows his mother had given him hadn't done the deed, he must've drowned.

Nick had hoped the latter. That he would've been put out of his misery and the misery of this world instead of becoming one of them. He had never thought he'd see him again, alive or undead. Didn't really want to see him turned, either. Because he was not really seeing Troy now. Just his physical manifestation, reanimated to forever crave that hunger that never diminishes. He hated that for him. And would do what was necessary to bring it to an end. He'd hope Troy would have done the same for him.

He edged closer to the older boy, his friend and unlikely ally. Well, used to be. Now it was just his body; Troy was no longer. Silent on his feet, thanks to boots that had no tread, he began to close the gap.

He became overwhelmed then, realizing he would soon be face to face with Not Troy, and would have to find the power in him to release his body from this world, after his soul had already left. He shuddered in a breath, as tears welled in his eyes. Stinging, but glad for the pain, because then he knew it was real, that he could feel something, even after everything he'd done, and what he was going to do.

When he felt the warm liquid seep down his cheek he pulled his knife up defensively before grabbing Not Troy's shoulder, forcing the walker to turn and face him. He wanted to see him one last time, if not alive, then at least moving, making noise. A kind of goodbye.

Not Troy whirled around, faster than he thought the dead possible. Nick's breath caught in his throat again as it became desert dry. He looked into the bright blue eyes of his former friend. Bright blue eyes that remained unchanged from the grey cataracht-like eyes of the undead.

"Nicky!" Troy rasped, then coughed at the strain of the octave he had reached. In that instant Nick dropped his blade and grabbed the older boy, tightening his arms around his torso, more of a restraint-type hug. Troy groaned. The sudden embrace had knocked his already precarious equilibrum off-balance. He stumbled back a few steps; Nick never once letting go or loosening his death grip on him.

The back of Troy's ankles knocked into an old milk crate filled with broken concrete and he fell backward onto the side of the spillway. Nick didn't let go until they'd hit the ground.

"H-how?" Nick managed to say, a volley of emotions beating at the cage of his chest, and he was sure all of those feelings were etched on his face.

"I'll tell you all about it," Troy started, "But first, I could really use a smoke."


	3. Memories

Nick couldn't hide the smile that found his lips. It was full of relief, joy even. He wasn't alone anymore! The only other person he would have wanted to see more would have been Alicia. But he was damn well happy that Troy survived. Through his faults.

Nick pulled a soft pack of cigarettes out of his slacks. "So, what the hell happened?"

Troy took one eagerly, biting part of the filter down and lit it as he looked off towards the waning sun.

"Well, I woke up in the maitenence section, where we were planting the C-4, down by the breach wall. I was sopping wet, I had water up to my ears, laying down!" He gestured with his cigarette hand, almost singing a curl. "Then there was this big _whoosh_ of water; my head was already pounding and when the wave hit me, I guess I just fully came to then and jumped up."

Nick watched the older boy silently, as equally interested in his escape story as the fact that he hasn't said how he ended up down there by the breach wall. It was Madison. Had he forgotten? Troy continued.

"It took me a few tries but I climbed back up to where we had planted the charges. The water was rising steadily. And after a few seconds where I was lying was completely submerged."

He took a puff of the cigarette, looking down at it for a moment.

"When I went through the doorway that led into the maitenance shaft the water was on my heels. There was noise everywhere, metal seeming to pop and bang, cracking of concrete, surges of water. I made it through the shaft in about ankle deep water. My head was still pounding, man. I made it up to the stairwell and it was more confined. So, it was less of the rough, turbulent water and more just a steady, quick rise. I got about two and a half flights up before the water was on my hips."

Nick listened with curious eyes. Never looking away from the older boy. Troy took another drag, waiting a moment before speaking. Nick's heart was racing, picturing what his friend had went through, the fear, mixed with determination. Nick knew how it must have ended, what with seeing Troy alive now. But, that didn't stop his heart from racing, figuratively sitting on the edge of his seat to hear what was to come.

"So I grabbed onto the railing and pulled myself over the edge into the water. It was much calmer now, still rising quick, though," he chuckled. Nick didn't think he would ever hear that sound again. "I let the water do the rest; as it came up I just grabbed the different levels of the banisters and directed myself up, through the flights. When I got to the landing leading to the bridge, I kicked myself out onto the walkway. Water started pooling at my feet. Then the ground shook again, and a huge crack started beaming across the walkway; it was a sheer seventy-five, eighty foot drop down, to the higher side of the dam, where the water was busting through, escaping."

Nick kept looking at him, trying to picture Troy in that situation. Was he scared? Did he have the _oh shit_ look on his face? Or was he laughing at the peril, as Nick's known him to do. He listened on.

"I ran to the left, around the stairwell and through the maitenance locker room. I found myself on the main entry bridge. There were a lot of dead. Throwing themselves at the chainlink trying to make it towards the sound of the rushing water." Troy dropped his eyes to the ground, flicking ashes from his now burnt out cigarette. "Thats when the bridge fell."

Nick's heart dropped. He knew, as clear as day, Troy had made it. But the story the older boy was telling was as riveting as it was scary. It made him anxious. Worrying about him; made him feel a plethora of feelings he wasn't quite sure of yet. But, he didn't speak on it. He continued to let the other boy tell his story.

"The cracking noise was the worst part. I mean, it hurt my head even more. Everything felt slow. I fell slow. I breathed slow. Watched the water come at me. Then I drew a blank. I didn't see anything. I barely felt the water. I just _heard._ Heard waves, heard shouts, more distinct voices. It wasn't until I clawed my way to the surface that I realized it was all in my head. The voices I heard, telling me to move, to get up, to fight, to pull myself up..." He trailed off, not making eye contact. Nick could tell this was difficult now, the subtle shift in Troy's demeanor. Opening up was not one of his strong suits. But Nick brought that out in him.

Nick pulled his knees up towards his chest, crossing his arms atop them.

"I'm not going to lie; I thought the last thing to come to my mind would be my mom, even after everything, hell or even Jake. But it wasn't. I heard you. I heard you saying "Don't be stupid, get the hell up." and "If you don't, so help me." Troy kept looking down, unsure if he wanted to see the way Nick was reacting to this. Troy wasn't sure about anything right now. He wished the way his heart quickened when telling Nick this would stop. He blew a long breath out. Then he turned and beamed his classic, broad smile at Nick.

Nick was a little confused then Troy chuckled again. "On the other hand, Nicky. Did you know dead bikers make good floats?" Troy laughed, and flicked the cigarette butt, getting up and wiping his damp jeans off.


	4. Solace

Editor's Note: This chapter is long! I couldn't find a good stopping point what with wanting to put all the information in that I wanted. I hope you all enjoy the read and enjoy the story so far. Please feel free to message me with any questions or concerns. Reviews are ALWAYS appreciated. Reviews are like candy. This is a long one, so sorry for that. I look forward to hearing from you!

* * *

Nick looked up, a faint smile ghosting his lips. No matter how much Troy ever began to open up, he always caught himself and reverted back to the nonchalant, comedic side of himself.

Troy stuck his right arm down, an offer to pull Nick up and Nick obliged, grabbing the older boy's forearm and hoisting himself up.

"So, how long did you float on top of another dude?" Nick joked at him. Troy scrunched his nose up, but ignored the pointed question.

"Couldn't really say, man. Until I started feeling my legs scrape the bottom, I guess. That's when I finally looked up, could tell the damn was no longer in sight. Hell, I might've even slept. I don't know."

Nick nodded, absorbing the words, the voice. He was still awestruck at the fact that Troy was alive. He would listen to anything he had to say, just to hear his voice. Now, especially now, he realized he would never really know when it would be the last time.

"So, what're you thinking?" Nick asked him, pointedly, cutting his eyes at the taller boy next to him.

Troy took a minute to respond, putting his hands on his hips and squinting at the sunset. "There." He pointed at what looked like an apartment building. Of all things, an apartment building.

"Are you cra-" Nick started, but cut himself off; he believed he already knew the answer to that. "That place is probably crawling with those freaks." Nick couldn't believe that was Troy's first pick.

Troy looked taken aback. "What the hell do you mean? Crawling with the dead ?It can't be more than a, uh, fifteen hundred square foot building." Nick looked back at Troy, then lined his eyes up with his pointer finger again, now seeing a small stucco building down and to the right of the apartment-looking complex. "It looks like its sitting on a small hill, not any other buildings in the immediate area," Troy continued, "And the sun is going down. We better get to steppin'," Troy finished, dropping his hand from the air and beginning to walk down the canal.

Nick took a moment before following, just watching the way he walked. He still had that drag-step, must've hurt himself leaving the dam. He bagan walking behind the taller figure, relishing in the movements his friend made. He was glad he was alive, glad he had found him. It was also a kind of ultimate, cosmic "fuck you" to his mother.

They walked silently for about twenty-five minutes until they reached the steep embankment leading out of the canal. Troy scaled the side easily, bouncing at the top similarly to a boxer warming up. Nick wasn't so lucky. He'd made it about three feet up before his treadless, wet boots caused him to slide back down. He caught himself with his palms flat out, scraping slightly against the concrete rise.

Troy didn't hesitate. He planted his right foot where he stood, scooting his left down the rise a few feet and outstretched his left arm. Nick took a few steps backwards and ran at the steep ramp, planting two good steps before locking his grip around Troy's warm forearm. With an effortless grunt, Troy pulled the younger boy up, keeping his balance. After Nick had come back vertical, the momentum of Troy's pull still had him barrelling forward a bit and Troy's shoulder struck right in the middle of his sternum. It wasn't too painful, but when Troy heard Nick's slight gasp at the contact, he became immediately concerned.

"It's cool; I'm good," Nick said as he played it off and rubbed the center of his chest. Troy watched him with disbelieving eyes but shook his head, dismissing the thought. It would most definitely bruise. But what did Nick have to gain from admitting that?

They scanned the area, only saw a few straggling dead over by an alley way to the left. They weren't in the direction they were headed, so they didn't bother and quietly headed off towards the building located by the viewfinder called Troy.

They hadn't came across much dead anyway. Only six since their walk began. Nick attributed this to the explosion and rupture of the dam earlier that day. Walkers loved noise.

They approached the gated lot that surrounded the building, with Troy in the lead. Troy crouched a little as he began rounding the driveway opening. A concrete sign noting the place was once some kind of government building, according to the Mexico country seal in the top corner of it. Troy couldn't tell what kind of department it was; he still only knew a few Spanish phrases. He rounded the corner, Nick following suit, and walked through the dusty parking area towards the tinted glass doors. There was a layer of dried dirt along the threshold. Troy thought this could either be a good sign, no living have been in, but it could also mean no dead has made it out.

He popped the door open as quietly as possible, readying his knife that had somehow survived with him through the turbulent waters from earlier. Troy pulled his index finger up, looking back at Nick in a _stay quiet_ gesture. Nick only rolled his eyes, knife ready, as if he didn't know already.

It was very dark inside; they could make out the shapes of a desk-type counter and a few tables and chairs common to waiting areas. Luckily they'd been walking in the dark for quite some time and their eyes had previously adjusted. Troy motioned for Nick to stay back a ways as he rounded the corner of the counter. His figure disappeared from Nick's line of sight.

Nick waited, not completely sure why he had listened to the older boy anyway. That's when he heard Troy grunt loudly and the sound of his body hitting the floor. Nick didn't hesitate. He bolted upright from his crouched position and swung himself around the counter, tripping over Troy's gangly legs.

"What happened?!" Nick near-shouted, pulling himself into a sitting position.

"Nothing," Troy assured him, holding a hand up to his brow. "I just knocked my head on a filing cabinet."

Nick chuckled a bit, then let out a sigh of relief. Troy threw him an annoyed look. Nick ignored it and stood, pulling the other boy up with him.

"Let me check that out for you, along with the other one on your cheek bone," Nick stated. Not asking. Troy reached up then, touching the sore spot on his cheek, right under his temple. He didn't know how he hurt it, thought it must have been in the fall, or the swim. Couldn't remeber exactly. He voiced this to Nick.

Nick didn't know what to say so he just shrugged. Nick realized then that he must not remember what happened in the maitenance shaft of the dam. Troy had said he remembered being down there to plant the C-4. But said nothing of the argument with Nick's mother, or the moments before he was struck.

The boys checked the rest of the office areas, a quick, thorough walkthrough to determine if anyone, alive or undead remained behind. There was no one. It seems everyone had managed to flee this place.

They made their way to what seemed like a lounge area/break room. It had dark carpeted floors unlike the tile of the other rooms. A large couch sat against a wall under a painting Nick couldn't quite make out, and there were four medium sized round tables spread about the room with papers and cups spread out on them.

Towards the back wall there was a large, double-door refrigerator set in a cove with counters and cabinets on either side. Troy began inspecting a small utility closet at the end of the counter. He arrived back at one of the round tables with an emergency kit that housed different first aid and three flashlights.

Nick took one of the flashlights and opened the fridge. A musty smell creeped out but it wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. There were a few moldy tupper ware bowls, some bowls with no lids, just aluminum foil, old, rotten yogurts and two twelve packs of what looked like soda.

"Hey!" Nick called to Troy, who was looking in the cabinets. "I got Cokes!"

Troy smiled in the light of Nick's flashlight and pulled out a sleeve of different boxed lunches. They pooled the supplies onto one of the tables. Besides the drinks Nick had found, Troy had found a case of cup noodles, some chicken and tuna salad snack packs and a few bags of just add water instant rice. Nick chuckled at that. That the label said _just add water._ Who wouldn't know that?

"Nicky, they're still in date!" Troy exclaimed excitedly. Nick threw him a confused look.

"How do you know? I didn't think months were even a thing anymore..." Nick replied.

Troy patted his large pants pocket. "My journal. I've always been one for punctuality." He smiled broadly. Nick grew worried then. Troy's journal. He'd always carried it. It was dear to him. But, did it survive the water? It seemed like a question Troy hadn't even asked himself yet.

"Troy," Nick started, wondering exactly how to go about it. "Have you, uh, checked it recently?"

"Checked it? It doesn't update without me?" He questioned back. "But, yeah, I was writing in it when we were headed to the dam from the Bazarr..." He trailed off, simultaneously realizing what Nick was getting at. He immediately tore into the side pocket of his cargo pants. The cover was dry, just like his clothes.

He sat the journal on the table, breathing in deep before he opened the cover. The cover opened easily, but it was the first page that gave it away, slightly wrinkled and bunched up against the next, and the next, and so on. He sighed and ran his fingers through his brown curls.

"Wait, don't touch it!" Nick began, holding up a hand. Troy looked at the younger boy, confused. Nick jogged out of the room. He came back a few moments later, holding a small, clip-on desk fan.

"I saw this in the office earlier. You always wrote with a pencil right?" Nick asked. Troy nodded, quietly. "Then there won't be any ink bled into the other pages," Nick continued. He then pulled the batteries out of the extra flashlight and popped them into the little fan after pulling out the eroded ones. It whirred to life and Nick clipped it to the edge of the table and situated the journal in front of it. After a few seconds the first page dried and with a little coaxing from the fan and Nick himself, the page flipped and the air began drying the next one.

Troy was astonished. I mean, the idea wasn't that complex but the fact that Nick cared enough to formulate and execute the plan made him feel good. He suddenly pulled Nick into a tight hug, much like the one Nick gave him. Troy's right arm went around Nick and grabbed onto his back and his left hand found its way to the back of Nick's head and into his wirey hair. This caused Nick to drop his flashlight, which rolled under the table, still on.

Wide-eyed, Nick cautiously began returning the embrace, putting one arm around his back and one gently on Troy's waist. After a few seconds, Troy squeezed the younger boy slightly.

"Thanks, Nicky," he breathed and let go, reminding Nick again of an innocent little boy. Which, for the most part, Troy was not. Nick bent down to retrieve his flashlight from under the table. When he raised up the light caught sight of the first aid kit and he remembered the small cut from the filing cabinent and rather large gash from the...hammer. He needed to tend to his friends wounds.

"Here, take a seat," Nick offered as he pulled out one of the plastic chairs from the table. Troy sat down reluctantly and Nick handed him his flashlight. "Keep this on your face so I can see."

Troy pointed the light up at himself, illuminating his face along with the wounds. "Hey, Nicky, I bet it looks like I'm about to tell a scary story, huh?" He asked, rhetorically, making what one would call "spooky" face and waggling his long fingers. Nick chuckled and dug into the box. He grabbed a few cotton balls, some peroxide, some gauze, tape and a tube of Bactricin.

"Oh, I got a good horror story!" Troy stated, in one of his manic modes. Nick was used to this, from before, before the dam.

"Go on," he nodded at the older boy, arranging the aid items on the table.

"Okay, get this, its a survival story, about an ex-junkie and his friend the sociopath," Troy began, smiling, bright blue eyes sparkling. Nick couldn't hold back his laugh.

"Wait, did you just admit you're a sociopath?" Nick questioned, playfully.

"Well, get this," he started, "The sociopath is also a liar."

Nick shook his head, smiling as he drenched a cotton ball in peroxide. "And very good at evading questions it seems," Nick stated pointedly. "So, how does this horror story end?"

Troy looked away for a moment, chewing on his lip, before looking back and erasing the wondering look from his face. "I'll keep you updated."

Nick nodded and raised his hand with the peroxide on it. He was only going to put some of the ointment on the cut from the cabinet; it wasn't that bad. He moved his hand towards the gash, slowly. The second he made contact with the bruised, bloody, tender skin, Troy flinched and his hand shot up and grabbed Nick's. Nick froze. Troy's hand was warm, semi-soft with rough patches from what he could tell by the contact with the back of his own hand. For a second before Troy let go, he seemed to lean his face into Nick's hand, if only slightly, while pushing his hand and essentially trapping Nick's between his hand and his face.

He dropped his hand quickly, averting his eyes. "Sorry, it was just cold," he stated. Nick blinked, swallowed silently and gently touched the cotton ball to the wound again. This time Troy only squeezed his eyes for a moment then let them fully close, relaxed.

"So, what happened?" Nick asked again, delving into the mystery that has been eating at him since they found each other again. Did he really not remember?

"I, I honestly don't know. I think it might have happened in the fall from the bridge, or while I was underwater. There was a lot of debris. Broken concrete and the like."

Nick finished with the peroxide and began applying a copious amount of ointment to the area before covering it with the square gauze. He didn't push the issue. Just nodded and took a few steps back and flipping a few pages of the journal to dry.

They ate some of the chicken salad snacks, and shared a coke to make them last longer. It wasn't long before Nick was throwing his arms above his head, stretching and yawning. Troy stood up silently and went and secured both the front entrance door, the back entry and the lounge room door. He came back into the room with a few throw blankets he found at various desks.

"You can take the couch. Just give me at least one of the back cushions to lay on," Troy said, pointing at the couch.

Nick thought for a moment. "No, the couch is huge. If it were a pizza it'd be deep dish. We can both take the couch. Try and actually get some rest. I'll take one end and you can get the other."

Troy didn't argue. Just mumbled about missing pizza and collapsed on the couch, taking the inside, rolling and facing the back of the couch. Nick walked over to where the other boy lay and laid down himself, scooting his head up to rest on the cushioned arm. He pulled the throw covers off the back of the couch and tossed one on top of Troy, covering himself as well.

He faced towards the inside of the couch, sidleing up against Troy, albeit unwillingly. Troy's legs were by his stomach and feet almost up against Nick's chest. The couch was comfortable though and he tossed his arm over Troy's ankles, more as an anchor to pull some of his body weight away from the edge.

"Don't cuddle my feet, Nicky," Troy said sleepily. "They're...feet."

Nick smirked in the darkness. "Just shut up and go to sleep," he said, "I think foot odor is the least of our problems nowadays."

Troy's head shot up, and he tried to jerk his feet back. Nick tightened his hold around his ankles.

"I'm just kidding, dumbass. You're feet dont really stink."

Troy rolled his eyes in the dark and plopped his head back down on the couch, sighing and subconsiously enjoying the warmth he felt sleeping next to Nick.

Nick drifted off as well. Quick. Easy. He'd always had insomnia, and various other sleeping problems. But, tonight was different. They laid there and went into a deep sleep.

Perhaps the most restful, relaxing, enjoyable sleep either of them had had since the world ended.


	5. Morning

Nick woke with a start, sliding backwards off of the couch. His back thudded on the carpeted floor. Troy jerked awake and, attempted to avert his fall by grabbing his legs at the ankles.

"I tried to stop you," Troy said groggily.

Nick coughed and leaned on his elbows a little. "Well, you tried. Now let me go."

Troy dropped Nick's feet and his lower half thudded on the floor as well. He sat up on the couch, and offered Nick a hand up.

Nick obliged and pulled himself up, scanning the room. It was dim, even in the daylight. Black-out curtains lined the front wall; jagged shards of light beaming through the minute gaps in between them.

Troy rubbed sleep from his eyes and ran his hand through his curls, blowing out a long breath. He stretched his arms behind his back, stretching his shoulders.

Nick crossed the room, to the table of supplies. He grabbed a pack of crackers and a bottled water. He opened the water and took a gulp, tightening the lid and tossing it at Troy.

Troy caught it instinctively and nodded, getting a drink himself. Nick moved to the windows and drew the curtains open a few inches. He peeled open the cracker sleeve and popped one into his mouth, scanning the parking lot in the early light. He heard Troy get up from the couch and start taking down the chair blocking the door.

Nick half-turned, still looking out the window. "Where ya goin'?" He asked the older boy.

"Whiz," he replied and dipped out of the door.

After Troy returned, he and Nick started packing their supplies. Troy had found what seemed to be a laptop satchel on one of the computer chairs in the office area. He stuffed his now, dry notebook into the pocket on the inside, zipping it shut. He grabbed the first aid kit, the flashlights, the small fan and a multi-tool screwdriver that was also in the utility closet.

There wasn't another bag, so Nick began fashioning one from some of the computer cords and a few of the throw blankets Troy had found. Troy had left the lounge room while Nick was working. Nick knew he hadn't left the building yet; he hadn't hear the door and could still hear shuffling and light metallic clinking coming from what seemed like the front desk.

Nick finished looping the fabric into a makeshift pack and hoisted it onto his back. He nudged the lounge door fully open with his boot and made his way into the lobby.

"What're you doing?" He hasked Troy, who was sitting on the corner of the counter, tapping his heels on the side.

Troy looked up and beamed a smile, pulling his hands apart revealing a multi-colored paper clip chain.

Nick raised his brow. "Why...?"

Troy just shook his head, smiled with that boyish innocence he surely couldn't have and fastened the clips closed around his neck.

Nick chuckled and smirked, making his way towards the door. He pushed the door open with his left hand, his right tightening on the cord straps of the pack. Daylight welcomed them, already slightly warmer than comfort, and they squinted their eyes but Nick took a second and relished the feeling of the sunlight on his face.

He scanned the area and crossed the mid-size parking lot to the body of a rotter, leaned against the fencing.

"You ready?" Nick stated. Less of a question, more of a warning. He pulled his knife and began slicing the midsection open of what used to be a person. He grimaced at the noise, then again at the smell that hit like a wave when he opened the walker's gullet.

Nick and Troy began lathering themselves in the guts of their enemies, making sure to cover all exposed skin as well as soak their hair and clothes. They ended up having to use another walker body as well, the first one was, well, more dry.

After they finished, Troy looked up and Nick noticed his nose wasn't fully covered. "You missed a spot," Nick noted, and wetted his hands in the rotter's belly again, reaching up to Troy's face. He slowly drug a finger down the bridge of Troy's nose. Never breaking eye contact, Troy just looked at him, breathing shallowly. Nick got to the tip of his nose and pulled back a little, then preceded to poke him. "Boop."

Troy pulled back and scoffed. "How romantic," he voiced and stood, turning and beginning to walk away. Nick stood too and watched him walk away for a few moments.

"Troy," Nick called. Now, a few yards away, Troy stopped and turned to face him. "We're going this way," he said, and jerked his thumb behind him to the right. Troy rolled his eyes and started walking back, and eventually past Nick. Nick dropped his hand and hoisted his pack up, catching up to the older boy.


	6. Vibrations

They walked together in a comfortable silence.

The noise of the world around them consisted of their feet on the dusty pavement, guttural growls from the undead, the ever so often of wind banging metal together.

They each took turns making side-long glances at each other as they moved, silently.

A few rotters were encountered in their path through the city and they were dispatched, again, silently.

Troy was the first to speak.

"If we find a ride can we go back to the ranch?" He chose not to look at Nick.

Nick looked up, brow raised. "Something you left behind? What about the dead?"

Troy shook his head, "No, not really that. Everything that mattered there came with me..." He trailed off and caught Nick's gaze before dropping it and continued to look down at the pavement before him. He tapped the notebook in his satchel to draw attention away from his words and towards something more physical. He couldn't fully understand what he was feeling inside, anyway. So he chose to brush it off.

"Well, if I'm being honest, I guess it is something left behind. Well, a lot left behind," Troy continued. Nick listened earnestly, trying to decide if the idea was smart or not. There were a lot of dead there when they had left the place. "When your mom got Alicia out of the bunker and we all met back up on the ridge, did they have anything with them?"

Nick squinted, still walking towards the dip in the city, recalling the hello and goodbyes received on the ridge when Alicia parted ways. "Just my sister, as far as I could tell. Why?" Nick asked, looking up at Troy.

"Well, if you think about it, if the only thing they took out of the bunker was Alicia, think of all the supplies we still had down there before everyone turned up dead. Well, undead." He smirked.

Nick's brows raised and he nodded, finally realizing that they _had_ left a lot behind in their search and rescue. Various survival tools Jeremiah had stocked up for _the preparation._ Along with many automatic weapons. They may have been shy on ammunition but there were still a lot of boom sticks.

"Seems like an okay idea, as long as there aren't too many dead left behind. We wouldn't want to get stuck in that bunker anyway," Nick admitted, thinking of all the people that _had_ gotten stuck in there, meeting their ultimate fate.

"Oh, come on," Troy mused, throwing his arm around Nick's shoulders, where Nick's neck was in the crook of his arm. He jostled him a bit. "You're saying you wouldn't want to be stuck in a locked room with me?" He teased, his grin widening as he scrunched his nose at Nick.

Nick was flabbergasted for a moment, wide eyed and looking up at the older boy. It took a moment for him to realize he was joking, but also a moment to realize that the idea was oddly intriguing in the most best of confusing of ways. He laughed it off and Troy shook Nick's shoulders with his arm once more before dropping it.

Nick pulled in a slow breath when Troy removed his arm, confused at the feeling of being weighed down more even with Troy's arm gone. It had felt lighter somehow, with the older boy's arm around him. Now he felt sluggish. He didn't have time to consider these feelings more.

Up ahead there were four rotters, all moseying around a few parked cars near an alley way. Nick drew his knife and pulled a finger up to touch his lips. Troy didn't roll his eyes this time, instead he focused intently on the indention Nick's finger made into his own lips. He stared for a second longer before Nick moved out of his site and Troy came back to reality. He drew his own knife and followed.

They dispatched them quietly, Nick having small struggle with the second due to a loose stone that threw his balance off-kilter. A few moments later, the weight of the rotter was removed as Troy pulled the walker up by the collar of a worn, dusty suit jacket and buried his knife to the hilt inside what remained of its head.

Nick shook his head to center himself and looked skyward into intense blue eyes and a hand up. He obliged and clasped hands with Troy, subconsiously noting that his hands were softer than he would have thought. Nick was just wondering why he started to notice.

"Thanks," Nick said and caught Troy's deep blues. Troy made eye contact for a moment.

"Eh," he replied when he got his bearings and looked away. He shrugged it off. "You think any of these'll start?" He queried, raising his buck knife, still covered in brain matter, and pointing it towards the line of vehicles. He wiped the blade off on the calf of his cargo pants and reholstered it, putting his hands on his hips and squinting, surveying the area.

Nick didn't speak but moved towards the cars and tried the door on the navy blue Camry that was closest to him. The door opened with a pop and they were sent a good sign when the overhead lights clicked on. Nick searched the ignition, glove box and console before giving up looking for the keys. Troy made his way over to the driver side and propped himself on the door and roof, leaning in to where Nick sat in the front seat.

Nick didn't look up; he didn't want to look into those dense eyes this close. Instead, he focused his eyes back to the interior, seeing if anything may be salvagable even without keys. He felt Troy lean more into the vehicle, and his breathing faltered just a bit. Troy poked his index finger into the corner of the sun visor and they lucked out when the keys jangled down and fell onto Nick's lap.

"Score," Troy said, unaware of the comfortable uncomfortableness Nick was feeling at Troy's proximity. Troy then grabbed for the keys that were in Nick's lap and Nick froze at the closeness, at the slight pressure from Troy's hand sliding up his thigh retrieving the keys.

"Scooch," Troy said and slid sideways into the driver seat while Nick hopped the console with slightly shaking hands. He rubbed the thighs of his pants flat. Anything to keep his hands moving and his mind off of the warming sensation he felt in his core.

Troy inserted the keys and it started a few seconds after cranking. He pulled out onto the road and reversed into the the alley, turning around. "So, back to the ranch to see what's left?"

Nick nodded, still avoiding eye contact. Was Troy truly unaware of what even his slightest touch did to Nick? Nick was all-too-confused, too. Well, he had had a few homoerotic encounters during a few different drug hazes with Gloria, but never on his own. He wasn't sure of himself right now, anyway. Nick tried to brush it off, attributing it to the fact that he hadn't had that type of release since Luciana had left him. It wasn't too far off a thought, so he put it in the back of his mind in hopes it'd stay there until it dissipated to nothingness.

They drove along quietly for a few miles, until Nick pulled a few CDs out of the glove box and popped one into the player. After a few seconds, deep harmonious mariachi music blared from the speakers in the small car until Troy zoomed his fingers up and turned the volume down, grinning. "Fucking Mexico."

Nick laughed, which Troy liked the sound of. He hit eject and popped the second blank disc in. He scanned the tracks a few times before putting it back to 'track 1' and letting play resume. "Must be a burn of American hits," he noted, turning the volume mid-level and leaning his head back. Troy looked over.

"Hits de Americana," he mused, gleefully, his broad, signature smile plastered on his scruffy face.

Nick looked at him slightly incredulously. "I, I don't think that's the wording for it..."

Troy looked at him and scoffed, "HITS DE AMERICANA!" He wailed and boosted the the volume. Nick laughed and watched him as the air blew through the open windows and split his hair this way and that.

He crossed his arms and leaned back against the door and his seat, just watching Troy.

Troy was unaware, tapping his long fingers on the steering wheel to music they didn't care to listen to before, blue eyes scanning the horizon and the road before them.

Nick feel asleep that way, arms crossed and leaned back, watching Troy. He wasn't sure why the image soothed him to sleep. Hell, he wasn't even tired. But, there he slept, the wind carrying noises of the road and letting the pop music escape out of the window some, as Troy drove into the night.


	7. Stars

Nick woke after dusk, leaning his head up from the corner of the window. He blinked, looking out of the window, into the dark. They were parked in a grove of Chihuahua oak, wind was slowly brushing leaves by the car.

Nick pulled his eyes back into the warm interior of the vehicle.

Troy was asleep opposite him, in the drivers seat, head resting against the glass and little puffs of condensation appeared and faded away on the window from his breath. He had his denim button up thrown over his chest and on his shoulders. Nick observed him for a moment or two, noting the way his chest rose and fell under the shirt in time with his steady breathing.

Nick wasn't sure how long he had sat there and watched Troy sleep, wasn't sure why, but Troy began to stir, shoulders shaking off his makeshift cover as he pulled his head upright. He groaned and stretched himself awake. Rubbing his face, he turned to Nick.

"Evenin'," Troy mumbled groggily and covered himself again.

"How long did you let me sleep?" Nick asked, shifting in his seat, wide awake now.

Troy stirred, "I don't know, eight hours maybe?" He answered through closed eyes. After a few silent minutes Troy sat up fully, shrugged his button up off and ran his long fingers through his curls. He yawned. Nick just observed.

"Hungry?" Troy asked, as he leaned over the console and into the back seat, balancing precariously. He retrieved a few chicken salad snack packs and a bottle of water. He turned on his knee and slid back down into the drivers seat, breaking the seal and then taking a long pull of water. He passed the bottle to Nick.

Nick took a drink out of courtesy, because he noticed, briefly, before allowing the thought to dissipate, that his mouth was already wet, watering as he watched Troy swallow a few gulps of water. Watched how his Adam's apple bobbed on the tight skin of his unshaven throat.

Troy shifted his attention downwards and peeled open one of the boxes, tossing the other to Nick. Nick tore into his own, not because he was hungry, but to defer his imagination drifting, for no good reason he assumed.

Careful not to alert the younger boy, Troy slid his eyes over to Nick, studying him. "You ever drive before, Nicky?"

Nick was caught off-guard and took a sip of the water to clear his mouth while he prepared an answer. He was always too busy avoiding life to adhere to policy. But, he never really drove anyway. In between the drug hazes, jail nights, or rehab stints, he never really had time to learn, nor test and pass for a license. He was more of a walker anyway. _Walker._ He chuckled in his head. "No, didn't care to," he replied. And it was mostly true.

"Care to now? I could teach you," Troy offered, which was different. Nick noticed the shift, and wondered why exactly Troy was being nice all of a sudden, though he did have his moments, Nick guessed.

Nick met Troy's eyes and his brow raised. "Why?"

Troy rolled his eyes and shook his head a bit. He had honestly just offered earnestly, wanting to help Nick with something, anything, for some reason. But he chose to play it off. "Well, if I'm stuck with you, you can at least take a portion of the driving job." Troy was unsure why he avoided telling Nick he just wanted to help him. But it seemed like a better choice to shade it with his usual non-chalant demeanor.

"But, whatever, balls in your court," Troy said and set his food down, starting the car. He shifted and reversed quickly and expertly from the grove of oaks. Nick wondered how he could drive so fast, backwards, and in the dark. He just might learn something from the older boy.

They pulled up the road once they were turned around right and Troy eased them up a small slope to a highway.

Once they got on the highway Troy slowed to a stop and put the car in park. He reach a button and slid the sun roof open. Nick watched him quietly as Troy leaned on his elbow onto the console looking up through the open roof.

Nick studied him. The way Troy's mouth was slightly open, nose scrunched a bit as his blue eyes reflected lights from the skies a million miles away. Troy studied the stars and Nick studied him. After a few minutes in silence, and Troy leaning more to get a better view of the night sky, Nick spoke.

"So, star gazing?"

Troy didn't answer for a moment, instead taking a last few long looks at the stars.

He leaned away, off the console, and Nick felt his body heat reside. Troy shifted the car and made a u-turn in reverse, pointing the car in the opposite direction as they had originally sat.

"Map," was all he replied as he gassed the Camry forward. So, Troy could navigate using the stars. That was helpful, in a world that no longer relied on Google Maps. Nick could barely read a paper map. He wondered just how much more was stored under the surface of this slightly older, slightly taller, perhaps more messed up, mess of a boy. He was learning more each day, the things that hide underneath.

Nick nodded and rode along, the burned CD playing low in the background. He tried to stay awake, tried to make conversation. He didn't want Troy to have to drive basically alone. No company but the road. But, he found his eyes growing tired, slipping closed for longer moments than he wanted. The sky was a mellow green/blue, waiting on the sun to breach, bring the day. Nick's eyes slipped closed one last time before the sun broke over the horizon.

He woke up, squinting his eyes at the sunlight reflecting from the metal walkways along the dam.


	8. Agua

The dam? Why was he at the dam? Several thoughts blew threw his mind. But there he was.

He stood, brushing his pants off and taking in his surroundings. The dam was the first clue. It was intact. He could see a few of Lola's men on the walkways, patrolling. Nick was beyond confused.

He began walking towards the dam. Brushing past a few people standing around on the bridge entrance. He made his way to the sliding barn door where Daniel was staying. He wasn't there. He started running.

Was he too late?

He ran back down the walkway and into the stairwell. He took them two at a time, sometimes three, but never faltered. He made it to the last flight into the maintenance shaft and jumped the last few stairs, landing at a jog with his knees bent slightly to take the force of the jump.

He ran down the hall, pipes blurring away along the walls. He reached the end and grabbed the doorway, swinging himself into the mid-sized room, ignoring the claw of the concrete on his palm.

In the room stood his mother and Troy, turning towards the entrance at his appearance.

He was out of breath.

"What's wrong, Nick?" His mother asked, turning to fully face him. Troy was unraveling lead wire.

He ignored her.

"Troy," He spoke, causing the older boy to look up. "We need to go."

A look of confusion crossed both Madison's and Troy's face.

"Why?" Madison interjected, stepping forward. Troy dropped the wire and stood, brows raised, searching Nick's face for an answer to his urgency.

Nick didn't know what to do. Why he was here. Maybe fate finally given him a do-over. Maybe he could stop his mother from what she was about to do. He ignored her again.

"Troy," he pleaded. Troy blinked and took a few steps towards Nick.

Madison grabbed his hand before he passed. "Troy," was all she said, in that open, caring voice. Troy looked down at her. It was part of her charm. Lacing her poison words with enough sugar that it didn't hurt going down. And if it did, you didn't care.

Troy shook his head at her, and to clear his thoughts. Nick watched as Troy pulled his hand away from Madison. He also noticed the hammer in her other hand. The hammer that would cause him great pain, and Troy as well.

He reached forward to grab Troy by the arm, any effort he could make to maximize the space between him and his mother. He would not cause this again. He would save him from that, if he could. Every moment of every day spent after what happened, he regretted walking in there, and uttering those words that would change the lives of many. 'If Daniel finds him, he'll kill him.' It was his fault. He knew that deep down.

When Troy was about a foot from him, a shadow grew from the doorway.

"I thought I might find you here," Daniel said, standing, arms on his hips in the entrance.

"What's going on?" Madison asked, eyes darting in between the three men before her.

"This one," Daniel started, accent thick, "This one is going to be a problem."

Nick's eyes went wide. He wanted to avoid this. To get Troy away.

"What do you mean?" Madison queried.

"I lost my Ofelia because of him. He took her from me."

Madison turned to Troy.

"What is he talking about?" She asked, gesturing at him to answer. Nick watched the gleam from the hammer.

"I led the horde to the ranch," he spoke. The next few moments seemed to slow for Nick, all of the noise was gone.

He watched as words flew silently between his mother and his friend, until she slowly raised the hammer. He could hear his own heartbeat. Bludgeoning his ear drums. He covered his ears but to no avail. He didn't want to see it happen again. He didn't want to watch his mother do that. He didn't look. He couldn't.

But that was the only sound that came through. He heard the smack of the hammer as it made contact with Troy's cheekbone. He only looked up when he felt Troy's figure pull away and slide down the embankment. He put his hands back onto his face. He wanted to be gone.

When he opened his eyes, he was the only one there, save for the body of his friend and unlikely ally, lying lifeless down the slope.

He approached the edge and slid his own way down. Tears were already free-flowing, having to relive this again. He thought he could change it. But, again, he stood there while Madison took Troy away from him. He didn't stop it.

His emotions stung his eyes as they escaped in mourning. He reached Troy's body and grabbed him by the blue lapels on his button up. He shook him. He slammed him onto the ground. He pounded on his chest. Nick could not wake Troy.

This is it, he thought, I had my chance to save him from that, and now he's gone for good. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, on his knees next to Troy's body. After some time, though, the ground began to shake. He couldn't hear anything but his ragged, breathy sobs.

The shaking grew stronger, and soon the corner of the room opened and water drug itself through the crumbling concrete. He watched the water come at him, but he didn't move.

Instead, he scooted his legs down, and laid his head on his friend's chest, gripping his shirt tight, and laid next to him.

He took a few long breaths and after he exhaled fully, he buried his head down at Troy and he let the water wash them both away.


	9. Home

Nick jerked awake, clawing desperately for some kind of purchase on the cloth seats of the car, much like the death grip he just had on Troy's shirt.

Troy.

Relief hit him like a flood. It was just a dream. Nick took a deep breath and sighed. He was alone in the car. So, where was Troy?

Nick slowly opened the car door, trembling slightly. He shook his head to clear his mind of the chain of events that had just unfolded in his dreams. She sun was just past the top of the sky. Nick couldn't tell time by the placement of the sun, but felt it must be sometime after noon.

He scanned the area where the car was parked. Nick was on the ridge, a few miles away, but looking out into the deep glade that was the ranch, towering hills on three sides of it. One road in, one road out. He turned back to the car and his heart quickened with relief when he saw Troy sitting on the trunk, his back to him.

Nick walked over and found Troy cross-legged on the car, whittling at a small stick.

"Thank God you're here," Nick found himself saying.

Troy looked up and raised a brow, the desert wind slowly lifting his curls about his face, making him squint one eye to avoid being poked by his own hair. "Ya thought I'd leave, poet?"

"Not exactly," Nick said and looked down to avoid Troy seeing the tears brimming in his down-turned eyes. "I wish I could have stopped it."

Troy looked at him then. "Stopped what?" He asked, genuinely curious.

Nick blinked and realized that Troy still had no clue. Although Nick had relived it, it was still blocked from Troy's memory. He had a choice to make.

Should he tell Troy? Let his friend know what his mother had done to him? Face the possible wrath that might ensue once Troy found that Nick had witheld it?

Nick cut his eyes up slightly, trying to gauge the other boy and what state of mind he might be in; if he could handle the news or not. But, he didn't fly off the handle completely when Nick had confessed about his father.

He wasn't sure how this would effect Troy. If it hurt him, Nick might not be able to handle that. Nick thought it was his fault anyway.

Troy was no longer looking at Nick; he was back to scraping the wood.

"I wish I could have stopped her," Nick admitted, walking a few steps closer and looking down.

"Who?" Troy asked, setting the knife and stick down and sliding down from the trunk. He crossed his arms and looked at Nick with mild curiosity.

"Madison."

"Your mother?" He asked. Nick fiddled with his hands, finally looking up at Troy and nodding slightly. "Stopped her from what?"

Nick met Troy's eyes finally and step forward. He reached toward the older boy's face and drug his thumb along the day old bandage right under his left eye. Troy froze for a moment, then jerked away.

Nick's face fell and he looked to the ground, taking a few steps back.

"W-what?" Troy asked, eyes and mouth widening a bit. "What do you mean? What happened?"

Nick couldn't look at him. "She, she hit you. With a hammer," He paused. "Twice."

Troy looked at Nick, a million thoughts racing through his mind. The first one he voiced? "I know."

Nick looked up incredulously. Did Troy really just say he knew? "What?"

Troy put his hand on his hips and grinned. "I know, Nick. I remember. I told her about the ranch. Which, now that I'm still here, when I could be dead, I guess I could reason to say that that wasn't too good of an idea." He laughed.

Nick looked on, mouth gaping.

"I was just waiting to see when you would say something. How you would say it," Troy continued.

"Why?" Nick asked, confusion draped over his face.

"I wanted to see how long you would try to protect me."

Nick met his eyes. "I, I had a dream that we were back there again. That I couldn't stop it. Again..." he trailed off.

Troy stepped forward and slung his arm over Nick's shoulders. "Hey, you can't get rid of me that easy." He gave Nick a shake. "Maybe I'm suicide-proof." He laughed and they began walking towards the edge of the ridge to scan the ranch.

It would be a difficult journey in itself, as there were over a hundred walkers milling through the fields.

* * *

Troy and Nick sat in the car, windows down, front doors open. Troy was tearing into the dashboard, unfastening snaps and popping open clips. The sun was sweltering and Troy was down to his dusty, stained white tee shirt.

Nick wasn't hot, however. He had become used to the heat near the border; always walking, the lonesome traveler. He laid with his head on the head rest, eyes closed, enjoying the wind gushing through the open doors and listening to Troy get irritated removing the plastic covers.

After a few grunts and several broken plastic clips, Troy dislodged the dash cover and Nick had to lean back even further to avoid being hit with it as Troy pushed it out of the passenger door. Troy started disconnecting wires beneath and soon pulled out a small black box.

"I can rig this with the power block and batteries from one of the flashlights. Make some noise, buy us some time," he told Nick, shaking the small object at him. Nick just quirked his lip. Troy was pulling out new tricks day by day. The star-mapping, and now with the electrical stuff. Nick was glad he was crafty.

Nick watched as Troy pulled the battery holster from one of the flashlights and disconnected the wires from the bulb. He attached them to the leads into the box and popped a few batteries in.

"Now, I'll have to be pretty close to start it off, so one of us needs to climb the tower and plant it while the other does crowd control at the base."

"I'll handle it," Nick replied, pulling himself up to stand outside of the car.

"No," Troy replied immediately, stepping out of the car as well. "Too dangerous. We'll clear a bit together, then you climb up and put this right on the railing, facing the well. It'll draw them from the barn and from around the bunker."

Nick didn't argue, just shook his head. When would Troy start treating him like he was more than just feeble. He was crafty, too.

They left the ridge and made their way across what used to be a cattle field, toward the north watch tower. A few rotters were scattered here and there and they dispatched them quietly, crouching as they got closer to the base of the tower.

There were about fifteen walkers spread around the ladder. Nick and Troy edged closer and took out the four walkers that stood in direct line of the ladder, two each. Troy handed Nick the speaker box and he made his way up the ladder.

"It's all set to go, so just plant it!" Troy called up to him, grabbing a nearby walker and shoving his blade up the nape of its neck.

He downed a few more as they crept closer.

Nick reached the top of the ladder and entered onto the landing, setting the black box on the wide, wooden beam of the railing. He turned back and started coming back down the ladder.

A pile of bodies lay strewn around the base of the ladder, Troy at the center.

Troy moved out of the way so Nick could drop the last few feet to the ground. They quickly jogged to one of the nearby equipment sheds and ducked behind a few empty barrels.

"We should be in range enough," Troy stated and pulled the Camry's key fob from his pocket, extending his arm and pointing it to the top of the nearby tower. He pressed the PANIC button and set the alarm off atop the tower.

An intense, high-pitched beeping began to reverberate in the air, and soon, the roaming dead began milling towards the base of the tower and away from the bunker.


	10. Home Part 2

They rounded the corner of the shed as walkers came closer to the tower, ducking off and heading back to the ridge. Troy forewarned Nick that they had about eighteen to twenty-three minutes before the alarm auto-resets, or the flashlight batteries die, whichever comes first. He knew a lot for someone who only seemed thick with problems, not information.

They made their way back to the Camry, and Troy backed it down the road quietly, until they reached the slope that led down to the barn and behind the barn, the bunker.

Troy shifted into neutral and cut the engine, poising his arm on the side of Nick's seat while he watched out of the back window and slowly coasted down the slope backwards.

Nick applauded him sarcastically and he rolled the car to a stop behind the barn.

"Come on," Troy said, popping the trunk and opening all of the doors. Nick followed him around the back of the barn, knife at the ready. There were only three walkers left milling around the entrance to the bunker and they dispatched them quietly.

Troy and Nick pulled open the bunker doors simultaneously, Troy popping his head inside for a moment before waving Nick on. All along the floor there were bodies. Some dead, some undead. They took care of the roamers and set their sights on the shelves that were still semi-filled with boxes and buckets.

Troy walked into the weapons cage and grabbed an armful of duffel bags from under the table. They started loading supplies into them. MREs, canned goods, rice, flour, flints, iodine pills, trauma meds, antibiotics, first aid kits, a box or two of condoms, a few empty clips, some with a few rounds, seven automatic rifles, three handguns and several different types of blades.

They toted three duffels each up the stairs and loaded them into the car. The alarm seemed to still be working so they started the car back up and drove onto the road that led to the Otto house. Troy was going home. At least one last time.

"You okay?" Nick asked, cutting his eyes over at his friend. Troy didn't speak, just nodded as he exited the vehicle. Nick followed suit quietly, wanting to give Troy whatever time or anything he needed. He could see through Troy's bullshit more often than not, and this was hard on him.

They walked in the house and Troy immediately went up the stairs and into the second door on the left. Nick had never seen Troy's room.

He followed behind him and entered the room, light blue walls with only three or four pictures lining them. The rest of the walls had a few posters from different classic, thriller/slasher movies. Nick innerly applauded his taste. There was a good-size telescope leaned down on a tri-pod in front of the far window.

He'd had a full-size double bed with beige and blue checkered bed clothes on it.

Troy walked over to a dresser that sat against a wall and started rifling through the drawers, tossing clothes onto the bed behind him. Nick leaned up against the door frame. He watched him move. Troy switched drawers, slightly bent over, tossing clothes up and behind him, not paying his observer any attention.

Nick liked the focused look on Troy's face. It pulled his brows down and made him stick his tongue into his cheek slightly. Troy caught Nick staring.

"Well, you can at least pack. We'll both be wearing these 'til we find some more," Troy quipped and tossed a shirt at Nick's face. Nick almost caught it, but grabbed it as it slid down his face, noting the wood-burn, citrus-y smell of Troy he got from the shirt. Nick smirked slightly and rubbed the fabric in between his fingers a moment before heading to the bed and stuffing clothes into one of the duffel bags.

They finished in the bedroom after Troy hit up his desk and got a few pads of paper and a pack of pencils. Nick didn't ask, because he knew Troy had a thing for writing things down. Taking notes, doing algorithms, hell he could be the poet and Nick wouldn't even know. He found that ironic, Troy's nickname for him and all.

They made their way downstairs and Troy stopped at a portrait of the Otto family. Jake and Troy looked about ten and seven respectively whenever the portrait was made.

He slid the picture at an angle and revealed a safe behind it. Afer a few moments, he turned the dial one last time and it clicked open. Inside were several envelopes and an ammunition container. "Yes, Nick, its money," Troy noted, seeing Nick eye the envelopes. "Like that matters now anyway. And these are rounds for my M16."

Nick nodded and slung the duffel over his shoulder, turning and starting for the front door.

"Just, give me a minute?" Troy asked suddenly, causing Nick to stop and turn. Troy's face was guarded; he looked down at the floor by Big Otto's desk. Nick nodded, even though Troy couldn't see it and turned back for the door.

"Don't go," Troy said quietly. Nick sat the duffel in a heap beside him and leaned against the pillared entryway into the study. He watched as Troy walked slowly around the side of Jeremiah's desk, pulling his chair back and running his hand down the worn leather. Troy took a seat, sliding his fingers along the edge of the blood-stained desk.

He opened a drawer and fingered a bottle of tequila his father had stored away. It had about two cups gone out of it and Troy pulled it from the depths of the drawer.

Nick looked on silently, arms crossed; he wanted to give Troy the time he needed.

Troy opened the lid and sniffed deeply before recoiling at the stench. He didn't drink. He didn't like alcohol, but still he took a big swig and slammed it onto the desk and stood. Nick took a step forward in an attempt to console the older boy.

Troy grabbed the bottle and began dousing the desk and floor and chair and any thing in the immediate vicinity before the bottle ran dry. He opened the drawer opposite him and pulled another bottle. Scotch, this time. He did the same here, drenching the alcohol onto the walls and curtains, the family portrait, the stairs.

He walked to a buffet table and pulled a drawer, retrieving a box of fireplace matches. He lit one and dropped it into the box, holding it while the fire caught and tossed it at the base of the stairs when it became too hot to hold.

Then Troy picked up Nick's duffel, full of their shared clothes, slung it over his shoulder and walked past Nick and out of the door.

Nick followed quietly, getting in the passenger seat and closing the door behind him.

Troy loaded the duffel and got in the car, turning the engine over. He looked down for a brief moment.

Nick didn't speak, but still wanted to console Troy. He raised his left arm and set his hand on Troy's shoulder, squeezing gently. Troy reached up then and laid his hand covering Nick's.

They sat there like that for a second, in silence.

Troy squeezed Nick's hand, thankful for the warmth and the gesture. Nick brought his own hand back to him and rubbed the slightly warmed skin.

Troy then put the car into drive and coasted down the road, away from the only home he's ever known, now just dust and flames in the rear-view.


	11. Return

It was almost dusk. It was raining. Nick couldn't remember when he last saw rain.

The wiper blades were on, so were the headlights. The rain seemed to make the night come quicker.

The windows were all up, save for the crack in Nick's window, where the smoke from his cigarette billowed up and out, curving and spiraling, seeming to dance on the way. Nick flicked ashes out of the window and watched as the cherry blackened the paper and burned it down.

Troy wasn't smoking. He didn't normally, just like drinking. He'd hadn't asked for a cigarette since they first found each other. Nick guessed it was more of a relief/congratulatory cigarette than an actual craving.

"Let's go back to the Bazarr," Troy broke the silence. "We have all this stuff for entrance and to trade. We can continue from where we were there, before..." he trailed off.

"We can't," Nick replied easily, taking another drag from his cigarette. "The Proctors could still be running the place. Or what's left of them."

Troy sighed and shifted in his seat, turning to lean a little on the door and using his right hand to steer.

"A good bit of them died on the bridge at the dam, and afterwards..." He trailed off as he revisited the memory, telling Troy about his own escape. He turned towards the window and leaned his head against the glass, watching the rain drip against it as he told Troy the story.

* * *

He had been on the bridge, looking through the chain link, watching the churning water stir wildly beneath him.

He was ready to go. To leave whatever was left of this life.

He had nothing now. His mother, she was gone, even before the water sucked them in. His sister, who knew if she was alive. Travis was gone. His dad had been gone. And he believed Troy was gone. At that point, he wished the water to come forward, to claim him and to cleanse him. Send him far from here, take his wandering soul from this plane and to whatever lies ahead. He wasn't scared to die. He was ready.

He wanted the ground to quake more. To shake him off and into the water. He wanted those falling bits of concrete to land on him and erase him from his existence. He had nothing. He was nothing. He was done.

"Nicholas," he heard from behind him. A familiar voice. Not one he cared to hear. "We have to go, boy. The bridge will fall."

He turned to look at Daniel, not letting go of his grip on the fence. It's what had kept him grounded at that time, clenching his hands and relishing in the biting pain it caused his palms.

"No," was all he replied, and looked back to the water. Debris floated quickly downstream, bodies, limbs, plastic buckets, more bodies.

"Yes. You need to come. It is not your time," Daniel spoke, slurred a bit, a chunk of his cheek was missing and blood dripped lazily to the ground below. He seemed not to notice.

"It's always my time," Nick relented, throwing a look over his shoulder. "I've been on borrowed time since before I could remember. So, why not now?"

Daniel shook his head and Nick turned back to the fence. He rested his forehead against the cold metal, feeling the vibrations that coursed upwards from the turbulent waters.

He felt a sharp pain on the back of his head and it was like ink blots dripped into his eyes. Everything went black, and the last thing he remembered was feeling his fingers slip away from the rough metal of the fence.

He awoke in the cab of a water truck, a stinging pain set right in the middle of his head. Daniel must have knocked him out, to get him off of the bridge, he thought. He opened the door and hopped down from the truck, walking around it until he found Daniel leaned against the side. He had a makeshift bandage on his cheek now, that was already soaked through.

"What happened?" Nick asked, looking at the old man.

A lifetime's worth of emotions flashed in his brown eyes, only for a moment.

"I hit you, to knock you out, knock some sense into you, mijo. I started pulling you from the bridge but then the bikers rounded the corner. I pulled my gun back out and took three of them out. That's when la jefa started to try to run. He must have been hurt because he didn't make it far. I got him right here," Daniel said, and pointed at his throat. He killed Proctor John. "Then I came back and dragged you off, into the truck. Then, you asked me what happened."

Nick thought about it for a moment. Daniel had saved him. He wasn't grateful. He had nothing to live for. Not that he ever really had, but he was starting to.

"You should go find you mother," Daniel commented.

Nick shook his head. "No."

Daniel looked at him incredulously.

"Ah, boy, what do you mean? Go find your mother."

Nick didn't want to explain himself, that he felt he didn't really have a mother anymore, after what Madison did. He just shook his head again. "Honestly, I'm good. If I never saw here again, a day in my life, it'd be too soon." And with that, Nick nodded and gave a half-salute. He turned and started walking away from the dam.

* * *

Troy listened quietly, visualizing Nick's words for the time he had missed.

When he finished, Troy spoke. "So, it was my fault Proctor John wanted you dead?"

Nick shrugged, "You were the one who wanted to come warn my mother anyway." He didn't mean it blamingly, just speaking.

"So, let me get this right. You were gonna blow everyone up? Including yourself?"

Nick nodded.

"Why?" Troy asked, genuinely curious. "On the other hand, I guess you really are suicide-proof. But, why?"

Nick took a deep breath. "My mother was gone. Or what I cared of her was gone. Alicia, well she's always done better without me anyway. All I ever was to her was a burden. Her high, junkie brother, who only ever came home to detox against his will or steal money for the next fix..." he admitted softly. "And I thought you were dead. The only thing I had left was me and I'm not even worth my own time," he chuckled.

Troy disagreed in his mind, but waited for him to continue.

"I figured I'd been living on borrowed time anyway, what was the use of keeping on?" He said.

Troy shook his head. "No, no matter what it comes to, you shouldn't think like that. I, myself, have never attempted suicide, but I did think about it. Every day. But, it always came back to the fact that if I did, if I went through with it, that I'd never get the chance to do better, be better. Contrary to popular belief, I hate myself as much as everyone hates me. And contrary to popular belief, I wanted to change that. I wanted to make myself a better brother, a better son, a better friend. Didn't really work out though."

Nick looked over at the other boy, who was deep in thought, more coming to light every day. He'd figured Troy's ego was enough to keep him afloat. He never would have guessed he was as depressed as he claims.

"Don't try that shit again, Nick," Troy spoke, voice hard. The sudden change caused Nick to lean away from his slightly.

Troy mentally shook himself. "Just, don't."

Nick nodded and lit another cigarette, cracking the window again and letting the smoke roll out.

"So, wait a minute," Troy began, "If Daniel killed Proctor John, and the other bikers got sniped, including but not limited to the one you said told John about me asking questions, doesn't that lead one to believe that, even if there are Proctors left at the Bazarr, would they recognize us?"

Nick thought on that for a second, then smiled as his face turned up. "You just might be right," Nick said, "It's worth a try."

Troy beamed his signature smile back and slowed the car to a stop, pulled a u-turn and made a left at the cross-roads. They headed back to the Bazarr.


	12. Restart

They bartered their way in with three of the AK-s and two knives. The Bazarr was bustling, as lively as ever. They made their way through the tented plaza, jostling themselves through the crowds.

Nick lead them through a corridor that sprung them out around the corner from El Matarife's bar. Troy was unsure of what he was in for, but he followed along obediently. A group of five or six people burst through the open doorway of the bar. Pedestrian traffic was at a maximum in the narrow corridor they were in.

Nick felt people start bumping into him, shouldering him this way and that as they bustled through. He immediately reached back at Troy who caught his hand and allowed himself to be pulled in between the crowd and through the doorway to the bar.

When they made it inside, Nick looked down at their clasped hands, their fingers that automatically intertwined when he grabbed for Troy. It took him a moment to build the strength to, but he loosened his grip and unlaced his fingers from Troy's, who looked at him with an unsure, one-shouldered shrug. Nick let out a breath and turned towards the bar.

He made his way up and slid onto a barstool opposite El Matarife, who had his back turned to him, wiping a jar with an old rag.

El Matarife didn't turn around. "Ah, I was wondering when you'd be back, amigo."

Nick leaned a elbow onto the bar, "I came to see if you might have heard something about the, uh, bosses?" He asked, using his index finger to stroke slow circles on the counter top. Troy stood behind him, and Nick could feel a small rustle of the hair behind his ear ever so often from Troy's breath. "The Proctors?"

El Matarife turned, sitting the jar down and tossing the rag over his shoulder. "The Proctors? What Proctors?" He asked, and laughed. "When they left on their mission por agua, they left twelve men here. To collect debts, make sure their rooms were running smoothly. The first day they didn't hear back, they sent six of them after Proctor John and the rest of the men. Out of those six, only two returned. So, the eight of them rounded up some cars, girls and supplies and left. Supposedly they head up to Utah, to see if there was anyone left of the Duchesne chapter," he finished.

Nick looked up to him. "What do I owe you for this?" He asked genuinely. El Matarife not only bartered in alcohol and drugs but in information as well.

El Matarife laughed. "Same deal, you bring me heads, maybe a few other things, and you and your boy can have the same room, and I've aquired a few cots to spare for in there."

Nick nodded and was about to speak before Troy cut in, setting his hand on the bar and meeting the eyes of the taller man across the bar. "Much obliged."

Troy turned and began making his exit. Nick pulled himself from the barstool and nodded a goodbye at El Matarife before turning and exiting himself.

They spent the next forty-five minutes making trips in and out of the Bazarr to the car and back to the room, retrieving their supply-filled duffels. After they grabbed the last two, Troy hit the key fob and locked the car.

"So, are we gonna set up shop here for a while?" Troy asked. It was his idea to come back, but he still looked for Nick to advise him.

"Seems like the best path for now. I mean, we have a room, beds, a job, and we already have enough stocked up in case we do need to leave. We can make what we can of this place, while we can, ya know?"

Troy agreed. "All the time in what's left of the world, aye?" He looked over at Nick.

Nick chuckled and flashed their credits at the woman in the entrance cage. They had already passed through several time carrying things in so she just nodded and waved them on.

They sat the last two bags down in a heap next to the others in the center of the room. El Matarife had two cots on opposite walls in a narrow alcove, a nightstand and lamp between them.

At the end of each bed sat a good-size wooden trunk, and there was a long, low-topped dresser along the left wall, across from a small love-seat and two high-back, deep, armchairs. He had also left them an Anubis padlock with two keys on a small table by the door which they would use to lock the room if they left, or to lock themselves in at night. Good precaution, Nick thought, especially with all they had brought in the duffels.

"High accommodations for the boss' drug mule, huh?" Troy asked, half-joking.

Nick snorted at him and rolled his eyes. "Just don't try to sweep," he said and kicked at the dirt floor, sending a cloud of light orange dust into the air. Troy laughed and grabbed a duffel, setting it atop the dresser and unzipping it. Nick sat on the floor in front of the rest of the duffel bags, unzipping them and putting the contents into piles.

They sat in silence, Troy humming something quietly as he unloaded clothes into the dresser.

Nick used one of the trunks to house the rest of the weapons and ammunition, while he loaded the other with the food, medicines and miscellaneous items they'd acquired.

After he was done, Nick walked into the alcove and dropped into the cot onto his back, knees bent and feet still on the floor. There was only about a foot and a half of space in between the two cots, enough room for the small nightstand and for one person to walk through to get into bed. Troy walked to the door and slid the lock through the latch, clicking it shut. Nick pulled his legs up as Troy walked over and flopped onto his cot.

There were only two, wide narrow windows on each wall of the room. One above the couch and one opposite it above the dresser. Nick watched the light recede through the small openings. After plopping onto his own cot a few moments ago, Troy began to snore softly. He chuckled.

Nick looked over at the older boy, his hair a wild mess, face scruffy. He had one arm tucked under his head, laying on his stomach, and the other arm laid down his side, his ankles crossed. Nick leaned up and slid his legs onto the cot, scooting down and resting both arms behind his head.

He stared up at the textured, concrete ceiling, noticing spiraling, bumpy patterns until sleep decided to take him.


	13. x

_"I have sinned by just making my mind up and taking your breath away."_

 _-Slipknot 'Wait and Bleed'_

They traveled down the highway, a good two hours from the Bazarr now, Troy guessed.

Nick was a terrible navigator. He held the map up to his face, closer and closer, as if the proximity will allow him to understand it better. Troy rolled his eyes and slowed the car to a stop at a junction in the highway.

"Give me that," Troy barked and snatched the map away from Nick. Nick hands were up, holding air where the map used to be. He gaped, mouth and eyes wide at Troy.

"You're so rude."

Troy giggled which made Nick smile and roll his eyes.

"Well, for starters, you were holding it upside down. Could you not tell by the words? And two, you need to start by narrowing down your location." He folded the map to where it was a large portion of Baja showing, including Mexicali, and the small red 'X' that El Matarife had marked for them. "What did he want here, anyway?"

"He didn't say," Nick answered, earning a shooting disapproving look from Troy. He ignored it. "He was kinda cryptic, actually. Just to grab some jars hidden behind the fridge, and a wooden box from under the bed. But, not to open it."

"Well, now I'm curious," Troy admitted, smiling at the younger boy. Nick rolled his eyes.

Troy leaned closer, over the console, to Nick. Nick looked at him from the corner of his eyes as Troy slid is long index finger up the map. "Okay, now, come here," Troy began, sliding his elbow to his side of the console. Nick edge over slowly, unsure. "Come on now, we don't have all day. Well, we do. But, that's besides the point."

Nick slid closer, feeling his forearm tingle as it brushed against Troy's. The hair on his lower arm standing straight up as it rubbed against Troy's.

"Show me where we are," Troy said and leaned the map closer to Nick. Troy was close now, and Nick could feel him watching him intently, feel small warm bursts on his ear as Troy breathed. It send goosebumps down the back of his neck and traveled down his arm. He hoped to not be noticed. Nick studied the map, closely, trying to discern their location.

Troy watched him as well, the way his brown eyes darted back and forth in between points on the map. They way Nick pulled at his bottom lip with his teeth before running his tongue on the inside of his lips. Troy dug his fingernails into the palm of his left hand, to divert his attention. He wasn't sure why he watched Nick so closely, why he liked watching him. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, and opened them with the purpose of clearing his mind.

"Well, if this is where the Bazarr is, and we've gone about, what, ninety miles, on," he looked up towards the road signs of the junction. "Highway 20 east towards Mexicali. This fork, highway 2. We're here." Nick pointed at the junction on the map. Troy beamed a smile at Nick.

"You got it!" Troy congratulated him. "So, which road do we take? Continue on 20 or cut left on 2?" He asked, looking at the younger boy studying the map.

"20 would take us too far out of the way of the 'x'," he answered, confidently. "We can take 2, and when we get to Progreso, just take one of the local roads down a little."

Troy clasped his hand on the younger boys shoulder, giving a congratulatory squeeze. Nick absent-mindedly leaned his head down closer to Troy's hand, only stopping himself when he felt his ear make contact. He drew his head back and looked at Troy, who was watching him round-eyed. He dropped his hand and swallowed, licking his lips.

Nick dropped his gaze.

"So, onto 2, helmsman?" Troy asked. Nick looked at him confused, but nodded.

"Helmsman?"

"It's a ships navigator, you know, guide," Troy explained, shifting the car and pulling to the left to take the fork.

"We're not on a ship," Nick observed, folding the map the rest of the way and laying it on the console.

"So? I call captain," Troy answered anyway.

Nick rolled his eyes. "We're not on a ship, Troy," he repeated.

This childish glint didn't leave the older boy's shiny blue eyes, "I said, I call captain." He smiled and sped up, driving towards El Matarife's mysterious 'x'.

(BREAK)

They had about twenty miles left, Troy would guess, before they would hit Progreso and turn south.

"So, was Madison always like that?" Troy asked, breaking the silence.

Nick looked over at him from the window, "Like what?"

Troy kept looking at the road in front of them. "A taker. Doing whatever to get what she wants. Like a snake charmer. She fooled me..." he said and looked down for a brief moment before turning his eyes back to the road.

"She was. Is, I guess. Always has. Except now, she doesn't have any barriers. You're right, she had her way of convincing people. Like, how she fooled Travis into a relationship. Looking back, he was too good for her. She didn't deserve him. She has that way about her. Conditioning her kids to love her. Even through the little things, we still stayed. When I was around, I was fooled into thinking she was just a loving mother. She just brainwashed us into it, " Nick finished honestly.

"Manchurian Candidate," Troy quipped and looked at Nick.

Nick arched his brow.

"1962 book-to-film adaptation. Frank Sinatra," he answered his questioning look, matter-of-factly.

Nick pulled his lips into a small frown and raised both brows, shaking his head in an 'explain' gesture.

Troy continued, "Brainwashed. The guys were captured towards the end of the Korean war and mentally reconditioned before the got home. She brainwashed you."

Nick nodded in understanding. Troy was right. Madison had been a master manipulator from the start. "I didn't know you were into old movies," he stated. "Like all of your posters at the ranch."

"Actually, I hadn't watched or read that one to begin with. I actually heard it in a Slipknot song. So, I looked it up and behold a pale horse to add to my collection."

Nick nodded. "So, what else don't I know about you?"

"My middle name is Ezekiel," Troy started. Nick cut him off.

"Ezekiel?" He laughed.

"Shut up," he countered, then continued. "I'm a Gemini."

"Figured that," Nick quipped under his breath. Troy rolled his eyes at him.

"Your turn," Troy said, and cut his eyes at the younger boy.

"Well, you already know about the drugs, obviously," Nick said and looked away. He didn't want to see Troy's disapproval for some reason. Though, the older boy didn't change his view on Nick. "I'd slept more nights in abandoned places and halfway houses since I was fifteen than I did at home. I'm a Libra. I enjoy long walks in the desert, covered in the blood of my enemies," he laughed, earning a chuckle from Troy. He liked the sound.

The scenery began to change, from the endless dusty planes of the desert to a more suburban, yet still dry, area. He took a right, south, from the center of Progreso and blew down the gravel road until they came to what they were eighty percent sure was the 'x' on El Matarife's map.

He pulled into a gated lot that housed a few shops and a double-wide trailer that had a few metal additions on it. It was pretty big. They got out of the car and made their way to the side door, finding it unlocked.

They went inside, Troy in the lead. Troy was always in front. Nick wasn't quite sure why. But Troy knew. Troy knew that he'd rather something jump out at him than at Nick. But, he wouldn't tell him that.

Particles floated through the air in the thin beams of light that filtered through the shades on the windows. There was a wide couch with a orange and brown, chevron Afghan perched over the back. Nick made a left, past Troy and entered the kitchen. Troy followed him.

Nick stood in front of the fridge and assessed it, looking for the best way to grip it. He grabbed either side of the door and began to scoot it out of the little alcove it was in between the counters and grunted. Troy walked over and widened his arms, leaning against Nick's back and grabbing the sides of the fridge as well.

Nick froze for a second, feeling Troy pressed against his back. Troy started to work the fridge towards them, and it broke Nick out of his reverie. They pulled the fridge from the alcove and it began moving freely until the cord was pulled taught and they lost grip, Nick falling backwards into Troy, knocking him back against the counter behind them.

They stood there for a second, Nick silently and secretly enjoying the warmth of Troy's hard chest on his back. He struggled to find control enough to move his feet and when he did he stepped forward, allowing Troy to lean off of the counter. "Sorry," he said, without looking at him.

Troy stared at the back of the younger boy's head and rubbed his hands down his shirt, calculating in his mind, trying to find just why he resented Nick for moving. His breathing became steadier as he blew a deep breath out and shook the thoughts from his head.

"There's nothing back here," Nick observed from behind the fridge. Troy hadn't even noticed he'd moved. Troy went back to inspect the area as well.

"Try this one," Troy said, pointing to a black mini fridge set in the wall farther into the kitchen that they hadn't seen yet. Troy made his way over to the smaller fridge and pulled it from the indention. He yanked one hard time after he had pulled it out to disconnect the cord from the wall. Nick leaned inside and noticed a slight drop off at the back of the closet-type hole.

He reached in and pulled out three jars in succession. All three were filled to the brim with little baggies housing pills and powders. He handed them to Troy who set them on the counter.

"I hope we don't get pulled over," Troy joked, laughing. Nick returned the laugh, and they stood their for a moment, each enjoying the sound of the others laugh, unbeknownst to each other.

Nick made his way down the hallway, bypassing a few doors before coming to a stop at the end of the hall. Troy followed. Nick opened the door and looked into the room.

A double-bed sat, untouched in the center of the room. He walked to the end of it and reached below, sliding his arm back and for, in search of the wooden box they were sent to get. There was nothing within arms reach under the bed, and without Nick even vocalizing this, Troy stepped forward and lifted the bed and box spring up into the air.

Nick could see the box now, almost directly in the center under the bed. He reached in an pulled it out. After his arms were clear, Troy dropped the mattress and box spring back onto the bed frame. It landed with a thud. He reached a hand and helped Nick up, mindlessly rubbing his thumb over the back of Nick's hand, but dropped it before he could notice.

But Nick noticed.

They turned and exited the room. They set the box next to the jars on the counter and decided to look around a bit more before leaving.

They left empty-handed, save for the box and the jars of drugs.

Nick and Troy loaded themselves into the car and turned back onto the gravel road.

After a few minutes they turned left back onto highway 2, from highway 2 they took the fork back to 20 and followed it back to the Bazarr.


	14. Realization

Nick and Troy pulled up to the Bazarr, exiting the car and making their way to the entry.

Troy had slid the jars and wooden box into his satchel, so no one asked any questions. They didn't care if anyone did, anyway.

As they walked through the gate, Troy half-saluted the man in the toll cage, nodding and walking through. Since the Proctors had left, a few of the vendors had stepped up and started directing the place again, and that included El Matarife. And because of that, his errand boys gained free roam. They no longer had to trade their way into their home.

They walked through the tented plaza and used the corridor to cut through to the bar.

Once inside, Troy sat his satchel onto the bar and unloaded the contents as Troy slid onto a bar stool.

El Matarife examined the jars and then grabbed the wooden box, running his rough hand along the cover. "You open it?" He asked, cutting his eyes in between the boys.

"You'd know if we did?" Nick asked, making eye contact with the older man across the bar, who nodded. "So did we?"

"No," he gruffed and slid the box onto the counter behind him. He grabbed one of the jars and twisted the lid open, digging for a second then pulling out a small baggie with about a dozen white pills. He slid them across the counter at Nick.

"Gracias," Nick said, nodding at El Matarife.

"What are they?" Troy asked, eye Nick and the bag cautiously.

"Does it matter?" The old man retorted and turned his attention to a few men who walked in and sat down the bar from them.

Nick pulled the bag across the bar and slid them into his jacket pocket. Troy shook his head, resenting the older man for his form of payment. But, if that's what Nick wanted...

Nick hopped off of the bar stool and ducked out of the barroom, Troy trailing behind.

They found their selves in the bustling plaza, surrounded by various venders and tables.

Nick ushered Troy to find a table and walked away, towards a vendor that had smoke roiling up from a grill set inside the roofless shed.

Nick took five credits from his shower ring and slid them across a makeshift counter, returning to the table Troy picked with a platter of mystery meat.

"Bon a petit," Nick said and slid into the plastic seat across from Troy.

Troy scrunched his nose at the younger boy. "Could you at least tell me it's beef? I like beef." He used a plastic fork that Nick had furnished to poke at the specimen on the plate.

Nick laughed, "It's whatever you want it to be."

"That doesn't help," Troy said and stabbed a piece of meat with his fork, popping it into his mouth. Surprisingly it wasn't that bad. It was covered in a barbecue-type sauce but the inside was a little dry, like pork.

They sat there in silence a few moments before Nick eyed one of the cantina girls walking by. He stuck his arm out to brush his hand against hers to get her attention. She stopped and turned towards the table, smiling at Nick.

Nick turned on the charm, and Troy quietly seethed, deciding it better to stare at their shared plate than at Nick ogling the girl in front of him.

After trading a few phrases in Spanish, Nick winked at the girl and she turned and walked back to the cantina. Troy rolled his eyes.

"Is there anyone here that you won't undress with your eyes?" Troy asked, half-serious.

Nick turned his attention back to Troy and away from the girl's sauntering, retreating figure. "No," Nick said, looking hard at Troy. Troy wasn't sure how to take that. "I don't really have a preference though." Troy rolled his eyes again. "But, I got us drinks," he finished.

Troy opened his mouth to object but Nick cut him off, "Before you scold me about liquor, I got you a sweet tea."

"Thanks," Troy said and took another bite. It tasted pretty good, he concluded. After a few minutes the girl came back and sat two translucent plastic cups in front of the boys. Nick slipped her a credit and beamed a killer smile at her as she walked away.

"So, let's get this show on the road," Nick stated and pulled out the small baggie from his pocket. Troy eyed him cautiously, but didn't say anything. How well had that worked the last time?

Nick pulled a few white pill out of the bag and slid it back into his pocket. He popped two into his mouth and grabbed his drink to wash them down. He slid a pill across the table to Troy.

They made eye contact, Troy silently pleading with the younger boy, but obliged anyway, taking the pill into his hand and bringing it to his mouth. Nick smiled and looked into the crowd then back at Troy. Troy took the opportunity to pocket his pill. He took a gulp of his tea to placate Nick.

They finished their meal and Troy dumped the saucy tray into a waste bin near the tables. He drank down the rest of his tea and tossed the cup as well.

"This place is really big," Nick observed, walking next to Troy. Troy nodded in agreement.

"There," Nick said, pointing at a ladder that sidled a building in front of them. "I wanna see from up there."

Troy followed him to the base of the ladder, letting Nick climb up first. They reached the top of the landing and looked out onto the busy center of the Bazarr. They stayed silent a few minutes, Nick leaning forward on the rails and watching the bustling mini-city below as night began to fall. Nick watched as sets of twinkling holiday lights that were strung up throughout the center flickered on, engulfing the entire area in a light glow.

Troy watched Nick lean against the railing, watched the slow rise and fall of his breathing. After another few minutes, Troy was sure that Nick's drugs had begun to kick in. He was rocking back and forth a little bit against the bannister, humming something slightly familiar.

"Let's go for a walk," Nick said. Troy sighed and headed down the ladder. Instead of climbing all the way down, he got about two rungs from the top and gripped the sides, sliding down the ladder.

Nick watched in awe. "That was really cool," he called down to Troy. Troy shook his head and laughed.

"Do it, then," he challenged the other boy.

Nick rubbed his hands together in preparation and began descending the ladder. He gripped onto the sides and started to slowly slide down. About halfway to the bottom he lost purchase and came off backwards. "Shit!"

Troy immediately stepped forward, raising his arms, and he caught Nick as he fell the last few feet. Nick's moment knocked him back a bit, but he still stayed upright.

Nick was now leaned against Troy, his back to him, much like earlier in the trailer house. He had his arms crossed on his chest and Troy's arms were wrapped around him from the back, hands gently folded over Nick's own. He could feel Troy's hot breath on his ear. Feel his unsteady breathing. Between the normal, comfortable uncomfortableness Troy being close gave him, the drugs for sure didn't help. Nick felt a sort of electric tingle, spreading from his hands, up through his elbows, around his neck, where it met with the spreading heat Troy's breath caused to his ear.

They stood like that for only a moment before Troy took a deep breath and released the younger boy, gently nudging him forward, back to the ladder.

"Try it again," he soothed, exuding confidence in Nick.

Nick shook his head and took a moment to rub his palms together. Now that he was farther away from Troy he noticed his palms burned slightly, tinged red from the friction of the metal.

"Come on," Troy coaxed, walking to the ladder himself. "Trick is, just pull your sleeves into your hands a bit, turn your feet inwards a little to where the arch of your boot is on the sides. "Now, try it again."

Nick looked from Troy to the ladder and finally obliged, walking up to the ladder.

He squeezed his eyes shut a moment to clear his brain fog. He climb part of the way up the ladder and followed Troy's instructions, sliding the cuffs of his jacket into his palms and using the sides of his boots to grip the ladder. He slid down with ease, landing at the bottom with a bounce.

Troy clapped for him, which caused Nick to smile gleefully. "Told ya you'd get it."

Nick slung his arm around Troy's shoulder, causing the taller boy to stoop slightly, but he didn't mind. They made their way through the plaza and out of the gate.

After a few minutes of walking they found a few roaming dead and released them. Nick sliced one open and they began putting on their bloody makeup.

"I still don't like this," Troy voiced, wiping his shoulders down with the rotting blood.

"Well, go wash off if you think your camo will work," Nick said, finishing up drenching his hair and slicking it back.

They started walking off into the city, passing by abandoned buildings, abandoned cars, walkers who paid them no mind. The boys found themselves at the entrance of a large, fenced-in park.

Troy took the lead and strolled in, walking through the overgrown grass to a large, dried-out concrete fountain that sat in what seemed to be the center of the park.

"Oof," Troy grunted and plopped down against the base of the fountain. "My fiery feet."

Nick took a spot next to him and leaned his head back against the cool concrete.

They sat in silence a few minutes, Troy eventually shifting position and opting to lay on one side, leaning on his right arm, facing Nick. Nick sat with his head back, still, his eyes closed.

Troy observed him, wondered what he was thinking in his drug-induced haze. Troy remembered having to stumble a bit on their walk, giggle at inanimate objects, any action he could take to fool Nick into believing he was high, too.

It was Troy who broke the silence. "What do you miss most? About before?"

Nick slowly opened his eyes and looked at the older boy in front of him. He took a deep breath, thinking about it for a moment. Searching through his brain fog that he was quite enjoying in search of the words.

"The noise."

Troy only nodded, waiting for him to continue.

"There was always something to listen to before. Gloria reading to me when we were high. People hollering in the streets. Glass breaking. Sirens. There was always noise. Now, save for the undead, the world just doesn't make noise."

Troy listened intently, always interested in learning what went on in Nick's mind. He ignored the knot that formed in his stomach when Nick mentioned Gloria. That didn't matter anymore. She was dead and gone. That life was dead and gone. Nick caught Troy off-guard when he voiced his own question.

"When was the last time you did something for the first time?"

Troy looked down at the sidewalk, preparing his answer. A million thoughts raced through his mind as he took a sitting position. He took a deep breath before answering.

"Now," he voiced, and in one fluid motion he was inches from Nick's face, searching hazy brown eyes for any sign of resistance, before grabbing Nick's face with his strong hands and plunging his lips forward, colliding against Nick's. He kissed the younger boy hard.

A starburst met Troy's closed eyes and after a second it seemed Nick returned the kiss, leaning forward slightly and taking his right hand up and sitting it on Troy's that was still gripping his face. Troy had never felt warmer than he had in that moment. He didn't care about the bitter blood that covered both of their faces. He didn't mind the concrete biting into his knee as it dug down.

After a few moments Troy pulled away, dropping his hands, eyes flitting between Nick's eyes and his lips that were so soft just a moment ago.

He stood and took a few steps back, before turning and walking swiftly towards the gate they had entered.

It took Nick a few seconds to realized what had happened. After a moment he brought his hand up and rubbed at his slightly sore lips, watching Troy's retreating figure. Troy had kissed him. Hadn't he? He wasn't that far gone to have imagined the whole thing, he thought. He couldn't have. He pulled himself up, swaying a bit as gravity leveled his hazy mind back out.

He followed Troy, about ten yards behind him, all the way back to the Bazarr. When Nick made it through the gate, he lost sight of Troy in the crowd. He opted to go to the small community building and rinse off, before heading back to their room.

Troy wasn't there. Nick's foggy mind was frantic. But Troy was a big boy, he could take care of himself surely. The thought wasn't as convincing as he had hoped it would be. And he still found himself sitting up on his cot, leaning against the corner, watching the door.

It didn't open in the time Nick sat there waiting, until finally his eyes slipped closed and he fell asleep, thinking about Troy's lips on his.

On the other side of the Bazarr Troy, still bloody, pulled himself onto a booth in front of El Matarife's bar. He stared at the dented surface of the bar until the older man's gruff voiced pulled him back to reality.

"Need something?" He asked, leaning onto the bar in front of him.

"Anything," Troy admitted. "Literally, anything."

El Matarife nodded and grabbed a glass, pouring a deep amber liquid in until it was half full. He slid the glass in front of Troy.

Troy took it eagerly but faltered putting it to his lips. Lips that had just been on Nick's. He squeezed his eyes shut and downed the whole glass, relishing in the burning it gave his throat, as it took his mind away from other things. He coughed slightly and sat the glass back down. Resting his head onto his hands and feeling the burn slowly reside.

"This about Nick?" The older man asked.

Troy looked up, "What do you mean?"

He took Troy's glass and filled it half full again. "I'm not blind, boy."

Troy broke eye contact, looking to his glass. He sipped this one, wanting the burn to last longer, to divert his attention from what he had done. Had he just messed everything up? When they were so good, already?

"Don't take it to heart," El Matarife said to him. Troy looked up. "He's got a gypsy soul to blame and he was born for leaving."

Troy let that sink in. "I'd follow him into the dark," he said and downed the rest of his drink, turning and ducking out of the door. He went to the common building a rinsed off his face, arms and hair.

He walked slowly back to their room. He wasn't sure what he would say to Nick, or what Nick might say to him. He was scared, and anxious, and confused and ecstatic and warm from the liquor.

He made it to the door and paused before turning the latch slowly. He found Nick already asleep, sitting, leaned on his cot. He couldn't possibly be comfortable like that. Troy walked over quietly, trying not to disturb him.

Nick was still fully dressed. He must have been sitting up waiting on Troy. That made him feel bad. Troy leaned closer to the bed and pulled Nick's boots off, tossing them towards the trunk at the end of the cot. He wrangled the blanket from under the younger boys legs and placed his right hand gently on the back of Nick's neck and the other under his back. He slid Nick down in bed slowly, trying not to wake him. He was successful, and Nick continued to sleep peacefully.

"Thanks, Troy," Nick mumbled, shifting a bit and burying his face into his pillow.

Troy smiled and pulled the cover over him, slipping his own boots off and dropping onto his own cot. He fell asleep listening to Nick's even breathing and feeling the ghost of electricity, still embedded in his lips.


	15. Deny

Nick awoke to afternoon light filtering through the narrow slitted windows. He yawned and settled back on the cot, watching dust motes float and dip, spiraling and disappearing in and out of the light.

He rubbed his face, leaning up to sit upright on the bed. He looked over at Troy's cot.

They older boy was laying on his stomach, both arms resting under his head. He had his legs crossed at his ankles and he was snoring softly. Nick watched the rise and fall of his back in time with his steady, restful breathing.

Last night hit like a flood.

A kaleidoscope of scenes playing in his mind.

He sifted through them, until he came to the one that made his heart quicken. Gave him a burning in his ears, made his mouth water and dry at the same time and made his toes tingle.

He looked back at Troy. He had kissed him, last night. Suddenly, unexpectedly. He had grabbed Nick's face and before Nick could realize it, lips were on lips. He'd had this thought before, when they first got the car. When Troy had accidentally brushed his thigh and he shivered just remembering it.

No, he thought. None of this is good. Nick knew that this was beginning to lead somewhere he wanted, but is it what Troy really wanted? Troy wasn't in his right mind last night. So, Nick couldn't blame him for what he had done. If he even remembered it. Nick wasn't going to hold it against him and even though Nick had enjoyed it, he wasn't sure that Troy knew what he was doing. They were both high. He would forgive him, they would go on like nothing had happened, because Troy must not have meant it. Nick would have meant it...would have preferred it. But, nevertheless, Nick wasn't going to push that onto Troy.

He stood, wiping sleep from his eyes. It took him a moment, but he found and slipped on his boots that were at the end of the cot, on the other side of the trunk. Nick didn't remember taking them off. Hell, he didn't remember falling asleep.

Nick walked to the door quietly, as not to disturb Troy. He looked peaceful. People didn't get that much anymore.

He opened and closed the door inaudibly, making his way down the walkway towards the Center. He milled around a few minutes, looking for anything still breakfast-esque, even though it was mid-afternoon.

After walking in smaller and smaller circles, he came to a stop in front of a small chicken pen. He walked around it and spoke to the man at the table.

"English?" Nick asked.

The man looked up and nodded, "What're you looking for?" His accent still thick.

"Eggs, six."

The man nodded and stood, turning behind him and retrieving a half-carton, the styrofoam barely still attached in the middle. "Tres credits for half dozen."

Nick pulled his shower ring out of his jacket pocket and removed three credit chips, sliding them over the table and grabbing the egg carton. "Gracias," he added before turning away. He got a few feet and turned back, walking up to the counter. "Excuse me," he said, and the man looked back up. "Is there somewhere I could get a hold of a, uh, a hot plate?"

The man nodded and pointed a quarter of the way across the plaza, at another vendor table. Nick made his way through the afternoon crow, to a stall that sat in front of a narrow concrete building. A woman who was slightly older than he sat behind a desk. She beamed a smile at him as he approached. She wasn't a local, and her sandy-brown hair flowed past her waist.

"Afternoon," Nick said as he came to a stop, bring his hand up, shielding the midday sun.

"What can I do ya for?" She asked, with a southern drawl Nick couldn't quite pinpoint.

"I heard you're the woman with the wares," Nick said, beaming a smile.

She was unperturbed and Nick was slightly confused. He usually got a reaction from most people. "Well, yeah, so what can I do ya for?" She repeated.

He took another step forward so that the tarp that stretched out like an awning from the building's front shielded the sun. "Do you have like, a griddle, or a hot plate, or something of the sort? Something I can cook eggs on?"

She nodded, standing up from her chair and waving him into the building behind them.

He followed her in and his eyes began to adjust from the light change from the bright day outside to the minimally lit inside of what seemed to be an old commercial kitchen.

"I've got plug-in hot plates, and some gas stoves. Hot plates are forty credits to buy, but you can rent them for fifteen. Or you could use the stoves for fifteen, an hour at most. But, you have to purchase the pans and cookware," she said, waving her arm in the direction of the ovens.

"How much for a skillet?" He asked, looking at the woman.

"I'll give you a skillet and use of the stove for twenty credits. And I'll do you one better. Twenty-five credits and you can use the stoves for the rest of the week. Just cause I like the look of ya," she finished, setting her eyes on Nick.

He smiled sweetly at her, setting his carton of eggs down on a roller island and pulling out his shower ring of credits. He still had about sixty-five or so, so they wouldn't be completely broke. He pulled off twenty-five and set them in her open hands. She dropped them into a pocket on the apron she had tied around her waist.

She walked away for a moment and returned with a medium-sized cast iron skillet.

Nick took the skillet from her and thanked her. She returned to the front of the building and sat back at the desk.

Nick started to crack the eggs into the cast iron, using a plastic fork from a cup on the table nearby to stir and eventually scramble them up. After they were cooked, he slid the skillet off of the burner and turned off the gas, waiting a few minutes before picking it up so the heat would reside from the iron handle. He grabbed another fork from the cup and set them both in the eggs, starting to walk from the building.

He nodded at the woman as he left and she smiled back.

It took him about five minutes to make it through the crowd with the still semi-hot skillet and back to their room. When he arrived, Troy was still asleep.

Nick sat the skillet on the dresser. He moved and grabbed the small table and pulled it to the center of the room, softly stirring dust up from the dirt floor. He then arranged the two armchairs on either side of it and then sat the eggs on the table in the middle.

He walked over to Troy. He wasn't sure when Troy had came in last night, but he figured he'd slept a good while so he gently shook his shoulder. The older boy groaned slightly but didn't wake up.

Nick leaned down further, shaking his shoulder a bit more, "Troy, hey, wake up."

Troy stirred, slowly opening his eyes and blinking a few times. "Yeah, chief?" he said groggily.

Nick stood back up and addressed him again, "I got us some breakfast, Troy."

Troy blew out a deep breath before pushing himself up off of his stomach. His back popped a few times as he pulled himself into a sitting position and yawned.

Nick noted the smell of whiskey lingering behind his morning breath. He had drank last night, too?

Nick went and sat down in the armchair closest to the door. Troy joined him after grabbing two water bottles from the trunk at the end of his cot. He tossed one to Nick as he sat and twisted the lid off of his own, taking a long pull from the bottle.

"Who'd you get to give you a skillet full of scrambled eggs?" Troy asked, eyeing the younger boy. His brain hadn't kicked in fully, his brain was still a little blearly from last night at El Matatrife's.

"I cooked 'em," Nick said, earning a disbelieving look from Troy. "I'm not completely useless," he finished, smiling.

"Only slightly," Troy teased, not meaning it at all.

They started to eat the eggs straight from the skillet and after a few minutes, bits and pieces of their night began to seep into Troy's waking brain. He paused for a moment, accidentally dropping his fork back into the skillet. He had kissed Nick last night. And he had liked it. He looked at Nick, who seemed unaware. Did he remember? Troy wanted to bring it up, but he also didn't. What if it was a mistake? And he had pushed it on Nick selfishly? He didn't want to force anything on Nick. Nick was his only friend, his best friend. Did he want to ruin that?

Nick noticed the change in Troy's demeanor, though, but didn't speak on it. Troy had picked his fork back up and they finished the eggs off.

Nick leaned over in the chair and grabbed a slightly squished soft pack of cigarettes from the top of the dresser. He lit one and leaned back into the armchair, eyeing Troy.

"So, about last night..." Troy began, but Nick cut him off.

"It's alright, dude, I get it."

Troy looked slightly confused. "You do?"

"Yeah, I mean, we were both out of it. I don't blame you, man. It's okay." Nick said definitively, ignoring the pit growing in his stomach as he was trying to play this off. He in no way wanted to admit that he enjoyed it, had thought about it before. But where would it lead? Troy was just high on life and Nick couldn't blame him. He couldn't really want this. He was just high. Nick kept repeating this in his head. As if to validate that Troy had no interest in him beyond the mundane friendship and slight brotherhood.

"Nicky, I, I just. I mean, that's not..." Troy trailed off, trying to find the words. He didn't know what he could say. Didn't know what he wanted to say. "That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean, Troy?" Nick queried, sitting forward and taking a drag of his cigarette.

Troy stood and brushed his hands down his shirt, walking a few paces then coming up behind his armchair, leaning on the back. "Just, that, I, I'm sorry, I guess."

"There's no need," Nick repeated. "I forgive you, dude. You weren't in your right head." The pit was becoming deeper, and blacker. Twisting his stomach denying this. Denying Troy. What good would come from it? He didn't want to ruin Troy, Troy was already broken. He was just high, it meant nothing to Troy, Nick repeated in his head, constantly discrediting every moment he had thought otherwise. There was no way. Life just didn't work like that. Especially not anymore.

"Nick," Troy said, looking down into the chair. "Can you stop?"

Nick stood, flicking ashes onto the dirt floor. "Stop what?" He asked, genuinely curious. What was Troy getting at.

"Stop avoiding this," Troy said as he slowly dug his fingers into the armchair for some kind of stability.

"Avoiding what? I already told you it's fine. It happened. It's over. You don't have to worry about me holding it against you, dude." The pit grew, and pulled his heart inside. He tried to be nonchalant, to not let on to Troy that he was truly avoiding it. He didn't want to admit to the older boy that it's what he'd wanted, been wanting for a while, actually. So he tried to play it off, avoiding eye contact and smirking a bit. "I mean, the last time I got high and kissed someone, I woke up and she was eating our friends face, so. It could have been worse."

Troy shook his head vehemently. "No, Nick, come on, man..."

Nick didn't know what else to do to turn the situation around. To get Troy's mind off of it and onto other things. "We were gone, man. You were high!" Nick raised his voice slightly, motioning annoyed-like with his cigarette hand.

"Can you just talk to me? Like, stop for a second, quit using that excuse and hear me?" Troy fired back. "Just listen to me before you..." he trailed off.

"Before I what?" Nick asked, a perplexed look spreading across his face.

Troy raised his voice in exasperation again. "Run, Nick! Before you run. You always run!"

Nick looked taken aback. What was Troy getting at?

Troy looked back at the chair, the fabric had begun to tear slightly from his grip and he loosened it. "You've got a gypsy soul to blame and you were born for leaving," he mumbled, remembering the words that were bouncing around his head last night after he had left El Matarife's.

"What?" Nick said, barely making out Troy's words. "What are you saying?"

Troy couldn't take it anymore. Why couldn't Nick just see? See that Troy wasn't the kind of person who poured their soul out to people. Sometimes Nick brought that out in him. But not this time. This time Troy was just angry. Angry at Nick for discrediting how Troy felt. Angry at himself for not being straightforward. He dug into his pocket.

"I didn't take it," Troy said taking a deep breath. "I didn't take it!" he yelled. Nick flinched and it sent a sharp pain through Troy's heart. He threw the pill at Nick and it bounced off his chest onto the dirt floor. He strode past Nick quickly and pulled the door open slamming it behind him.

Nick collapsed into his armchair. The sound of the metal door banging closed ricocheting in his ears as he looked at the perfectly round white pill in the dust at his feet. He didn't take it...


	16. Conclusions

Nick slumped in the chair, breathing in deep. He had completely misread the whole situation. And now he probably was worse off than he was before.

He breathed deeply, trying to quell the voice in his head screaming at him. He stared at the white pill in the dust at his feet.

How had he not seen this? How could he have thought that pushing Troy away was better than the what if's? He leaned forward and put his face in his palms, pulling at his hair. He was so stupid, he thought to himself. He stood and used his boot to crush the pill into the dirt, watching as white powder mixed with orange dust.

Troy had stormed out because Nick wouldn't listen to him. It was his fault and he knew it. He had hurt Troy even more by trying to avoid it. And that infuriated him. He snatched the pill baggie from his pocket and chunked it at the wall straight ahead of him. It hit the wall with a thwack and slid down behind the nightstand in between the cots. He didn't care. They were just pills. Just small, little breaks from reality that he could care less about now after what just happened.

He rubbed his face and smoothed his hair back, trying to figure out how he would repair the situation.

Troy wasn't high. He wasn't gone or out of his mind. He had kissed him because he wanted to kiss him. The thought caused Nick's heart to beat faster, even through his anger at himself.

He scoured his mind for what to say to Troy. He would have to face him. He wanted to face him. To look him in the eye and bring him closer, tell him he wanted this too.

He wondered when, if, Troy would come back. It had to be sooner than later, considering Troy's boots that sat on the trunk at the end of his cot. He slumped back into his chair, drawing his legs up and resting his chin on his crossed arms. He waited for Troy to return, so he could make this right.

(SHIFT)

Troy made his way through the dirt corridor, walking fast. To where? He didn't know.

He just had to get away.

He walked through the plaza, ignoring pointed looks as he hurriedly walked through, bumping past people. He stopped in the center, laced his fingers behind is neck.

Troy made his way through the rest of the crowd and found the ladder from the day before. He climbed up, walking to the end of the raised platform and dropping himself against the railing.

He pulled his knees up to his chest and locked his arms around them, chewing on his lip. He didn't feel any pain when he broke skin, only noticed when he tasted the slightly sweet metallic liquid. He hadn't noticed before, but he had forgotten his boots. His thin black socks, with a hole in one toe were dusty and discolored.

He didn't care. He'd walked farther shoeless before. He brought his hands up and rubbed his face hard, smearing a bit of blood from his lip onto his chin. Again, he didn't care.

Why couldn't Nick just see it? See him? Sure, they'd had ups and downs. There was Luciana at first. But Troy couldn't remember when he hadn't looked at Nick and secretly wondered what his lips tasted like. What his skin would feel like with Troy running his fingers up and down him.

He'd hadn't had thoughts like that since he had experimented with Mike. Mike was truly his first. Sure, he'd been with plenty of girls since he was in his early teens. But, he'd never felt more connected than with another guy. That's why it was so hard on him when Mike had left. He wasn't going to admit that. Not to anyone. Hell, he'd hidden it his whole life. Hadn't even fully admitted it to himself.

But here he was, dragging his fingers through his hair and trying to steady his breathing. He didn't want to hide it anymore. He wanted Nick to know. He wanted Nick to feel the same. But he didn't think he deserved that. Not after everything he'd done. He didn't deserve to be happy, to have Nick return the feelings he'd been having since they met eyes at the depot.

Had he screwed everything up? Everything good that he'd barely been able to have?

He slammed his hand down on the metal grating that made up the floor of the walkway, ignoring the sting of the metal cutting through his knuckles. He repeated the motion.

How could he have been so stupid to believe that he could get away with that? Did he just think he could kiss Nick and everything would be okay? That he would automatically return his feelings and they'd live happily ever after? He was so stupid. He was selfish. He was careless and ignorant and every other single word his father had beaten into his skull.

His father was right. He was no good and he did no good.

He couldn't even have a best friend without screwing that up. He didn't deserve Nick forgiving him. He would have preferred Nick hit him. He would rather take a beating for being stupid than have Nick sit there and discredit his feelings.

Nick didn't care for him in that way. He made that abundantly clear earlier. He'd blamed the drugs. But he wasn't high. Troy had no excuse but that he'd dreamed of that moment for weeks. It didn't play out exactly as he had thought. But it was even more wonderful in the waking hours than he could have imagined. But that didn't matter.

All that mattered was that Nick didn't feel the same. He rubbed his face hard again and pulled himself off the walkway base. He had avoided this enough. It was time for him to apologize. To beg forgiveness, true forgiveness from Nick, even after he found out he was sober last night.

He would confess to Nick, tell him how he felt, that he was sorry, and hope that Nick still wanted him around. Even if Nick didn't feel the same, Troy still couldn't imagine going on without him. He would have a choice to make. No. He'd made his choice. He would stay. He would go on like nothing happened. He would push his feelings and thoughts down, lock them away and hope things returned to how they were before. He would quell all his emotions and put them at the back of his mind and try to still be friends. If Nick would have him.

He slowly descended the ladder, walking through the plaza and back down the corridor to their room.

He paused in front of the heavy door, bracing himself for what was to come before slowly turning the latch and walking inside.


	17. Acceptance

Troy walked inside, closing the door softly behind him. He took a few steps forward and noticed Nick sitting in one of the armchairs, head leaned down onto his knees that he had pulled up into the chair. He didn't look up as Troy sat in the one opposite him.

Troy leaned forward in his seat, straightening his pant legs and licking his lips, barely noticing the tang of leftover blood. He took a deep breath, finding the words. "I'm really sorry..." he began, looking at Nick who kept his head down. He licked his lips again. "I shouldn't have and, and I know that. I understand that now."

Nick finally looked up, his eyes hard, staring deep into Troy's eyes. "You're stupid."

A crease formed in Troy's brow and he leaned back a little, his eyes and face flashing with hurt, but he didn't speak.

"You should have just said something, Troy and we could have avoided this," Nick continued, his eyes still hard, boring into the older boy's that were beginning to water. Troy's heart dropped. He was right. He fucked everything up. His heart sank even further and he dropped his eyes, a few tears falling and landing on the dirt floor, causing the orange dust to darken.

Troy sniffed and wiped his sleeve across his face, still looking down. "Nicky, I'm sorry," he repeated, voice breaking slightly.

"Troy," Nick said, causing Troy to finally look up at him.

"Please," Troy started, "Just forgive me and tell me what you want me to do. I'll do anything. I don't want to but, I'll leave, if that's what you want. Just tell me what to do to fix this."

Nick rolled his eyes, the gesture causing another tear to slide down Troy's cheek. Troy wasn't sure exactly what he was walking into, but he hadn't expected this...

"You're stupid," Nick repeated, cutting his eyes at Troy.

The older boy shook his head slightly. "Please, stop."

"No," Nick said and stood, pushing the table out from in between their chairs. "You're stupid, Troy." He stood over Troy, looking down at him.

Troy looked up at him, his lip trembling and hands shaking lightly.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Nick half-yelled causing the older boy to cower slightly.

Nick reached down and grabbed Troy by the lapels of his button up. He pulled him to stand in front of him. Troy's breath hitched in his throat. He prepared for Nick to hit him, beat some sense into him like his father had used to. He was okay with that. He accepted it. He closed his eyes and swallowed, preparing for the initial contact from Nick's fist.

But it never came.

Instead, the younger boy leaned upwards and yanked Troy to him, smashing his lips against his.

Nick could taste the blood on his lips, the salt from his tears. But that was nothing compared to the taste of Troy. He released his hold on Troy's shirt, and raised his hands to cradle the taller boy's jaw, gently.

They didn't breathe. They didn't part. Troy slid his arms up on Nick's waist, moving their lips on each others. They weren't sure about the amount of time that had passed before their lips parted, Troy breathing unevenly, his nostrils flaring slightly.

Nick's left hand was still on Troy's jaw and he stroked his thumb along his scruffy cheek.

He slid his hand down Troy's face, onto his neck and slowly down his arm before pulling away.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Nick repeated, softer this time. He stepped back and sat back down, leaning back into the chair.

Troy's hands were fidgeting at his sides, playing with the fabric of his shirt while he searched for words. He was still breathless. "Why didn't you?"

Nick thought for a moment and leaned up in his chair. "I didn't want to disappoint you."

Troy dropped onto his knee in front of Nick's chair, becoming eye level with him. "Nothing you do disappoints me. Nothing you have done, or will do," he admitted. He brought a hand up and rested it on Nick's knee. "I didn't know that...that you would...reciprocate." He wasn't sure how to word it. "After, after this morning, I was sure you didn't..." he trailed off, looking down.

Nick brought his hand up and lifted Troy's chin, making him look him in the eye. "But I do."

Troy leaned into his hand, closed his eyes and sighed.

"So, what does this mean?" Troy asked, looking into Nick's eyes.

"Whatever you want it to mean," he answered honestly.

Troy nodded and stood, returning to his own chair and looking back to Nick.

Nick grabbed and lit a cigarette, blowing smoke upwards toward the ceiling.

"We should actually, probably, report to work," Troy stated, standing and grabbing his boots from the end of the cot. He sat back down and slid them on, lacing them up.

"Your probably right," Nick sighed. He'd forgotten about the world outside this room for a moment. El Matarife probably had a few tasks for them.

"Finish your cigarette, I'll meet you there," Troy said and walked past Nick, laying his hand down and squeezing his shoulder slightly before walking out of the room.

The second the door closed behind him he leaned back against it, a wide smile growing on his face. It hurt to smile that hard, he found, but he didn't care. He brushed his hands back through his hair and breathed a long breath out. It finally happened. He'd been waiting for this for so long it seemed. And after this morning, he wasn't sure it was ever going to happen.

But it did. And here he was, grinning from ear to ear, taking deeper and deeper breaths, relishing in how much fresher the air seemed now.

Troy trotted along the corridor towards El Matarife's, a light bounce in his step and the plastered smile never leaving his face.


	18. Problem

Troy rounded the corner through the last arched doorway, automatically sliding behind the bar next to El Matarife. He leaned onto the counter and met eyes with the older man, smiling wide.

"I take it you worked things out?" He huffed, returning a small smile. Troy nodded furiously, grinning still. "Good. It's about time you two pulled your heads out of your asses."

Troy shook his head, still smiling. He couldn't remember a time when he had felt this excited.

He looked out among the customers sprawled throughout the bar. Business was booming as always. Someone was always looking for a break from reality. He understood that.

That's when two familiar figures stepped through the doorway at the other end of the room.

Troy cut his eyes up towards El Matarife, eyes pleading with the older man. He returned his look, slighty confused. Troy shook his head quickly, his eyes read 'let me handle this'.

El Matarife nodded almost imperceptibly.

Troy leaned back onto the bar, turning towards the newcomers and breaking out his broad signature smile. "Welcome to El Matadero," he said, beaming his smile at Madison and Strand's approaching figures.

Madison looked taken aback, her eyes widening slightly. Strand looked in between the two, confused as well.

"Troy?" She said, brows furrowing.

"I'm sorry, who?" Troy asked, feigning a look of confusion. He brought his hand up and lightly tapped at his temple. "I, I had an accident. Fractured my cheekbone. Doc says I have..." he trailed off and looked up to El Matarife, "What did he call it? Retrograde amnesia." He turned back to look at Madison, her face becoming more confused before she wiped the look from her face. "Wait, you know me?" He queried, looking slightly excited.

"No, I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else," she said, sharing a look with Victor. "I'm actually looking for my son, Nick. He's been around here, before."

Troy looked in between her and El Matarife. The older man stayed silent. "You know a Nick?"

El Matarife pursed his lips slightly and shook his head, his arms crossed.

"Sorry, lady. Wish we could have told ya something different," Troy finished, leaning up from the bar.

"That's okay, thank you anyway," Madison said, cutting her eyes at Strand before meeting Troy's again. She reached and tugged on Victor's jacket cuff almost imperceptibly. She finally broke eye contact and made her way from the room, nodding at Troy and El Matarife.

The second she was out of sight, Troy visibly shook himself.

"What was that about?" He asked the younger boy.

"That's Nick's mom, she's the one who did this..." he trailed off tapping the bandage on his cheek and shot out from behind the bar, taking long strides until he ducked out of the arched doorway behind the bar. He started at a jog, making his way through the corridors. It turned into a full sprint and he rounded the last corner into the hallway before there room.

He smacked right into Nick, knocking him back a bit.

"Troy, what's wrong?" Nick asked, incredulous and rubbing his chest a bit.

Troy didn't answer, his eyes flitting frantically through the corridor and doorways around them. He grabbed Nick by the shoulder of his jacket and led him quickly back to their room.

He didn't speak until he had pushed the younger boy inside and slammed the door shut, leaning back against it.

"What's wrong, Troy?" Nick asked, voice raising.

Troy took a deep breath, trying to calm his breathing from sprinting. "Madison," was all he said.


	19. Decisions

Nick's heart dropped. His mother was here?

"You saw her?" He asked, looking at Troy who was still stooped at the door, catching his breath.

"I talked to her," Troy relented, taking another deep breath. "At the bar."

Nick's eyes went wide. "What do you mean? What did she say?"

"I acted like I'd forgot. Didn't know who I was. It was a good play, all things considered." He pointed to his temple. "She played it off. Said my name then said she must have been thinking of someone else. I don't know what she really thought. She's here with Strand. Trying to find you," he finished, looking into Nick's eyes.

"What did you tell her?" He asked, taking a few steps towards Troy.

"Didn't know a Nick," he half-laughed. "Couldn't be further from the truth..." Troy said, looking deep into Nick's eyes.

"I have to face her," Nick concluded. "She won't stop looking." Troy agreed, nodding, even though it caused a pit into his stomach.

He had thought they were good. That things would be okay. But, that's not the way it was. Never is. He understood Nick needing this. Needing to face his mother after everything that had happened. But what would come from it? Closure? More pain?

Troy wasn't sure what they were going to walk into. Would Madison claw a grip back into Nick, or himself, or both? Would she manipulate a toehold again, like she had so easily done before and all Nick's life?

"It'll be okay," Nick soothed, noting the worried looking mixing with slight fear in the older boy's eyes. "I'll handle it." He brought his hand up and brushed it against Troy's face, dropping it and squeezing the taller boy's hand gently. He pulled him away from the door.

Nick took a deep breath, and turned the latch. They stepped into the corridor, Troy behind Nick to the left, a few feet back.

The boys made their way down the hall, and out into the busy plaza. Nick remembered the concrete room with the sliding door that they had housed Ofelia in. He turned and headed through the plaza towards the group of buildings on the opposite side of where they stayed.

The door was slightly slid open, and voices carried out. Nick stopped before he reached the opened, listening, Troy waiting behind him.

"I thought you had taken care of him?" They heard Strand's voice echoing out of the dirt-floored room.

"I did," Madison retorted. "He shouldn't be alive."

Nick's heart panged and he heart Troy's breathing hitch. He absent-mindedly reached back and caught Troy's hand, squeezing it.

"Do you believe him? The amnesia bit?" Victor asked.

"Hardly, but it's plausible. Since he survived the hammer, it'd make sense he might have a few problems," she retorted.

Nick released Troy's hand and took the opportunity to walked through the sliding door, stepping inside. "Looking for me, mom?" His mother and Strand turned toward the entrance at his arrival.

Troy slid in behind him, but chose to stand back, leaning against the frame of the open door.

Madison looked from Nick to Troy. "I thought you had no memory?" She said, voice hard and eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms.

"Guess I'm not the only good actor here," he fired back, remembering many a moment they had together, her rolling him around in the palm of her hand.

"What do you want?" Nick asked, addressing his mother. She looked back over to him. Strand stood leaned against a cinder block wall, his arms crossed as well, sporting his thick black coat. She took a few steps toward him, and he back up a little.

"What do you think I want, Nick? I want you back. I want my son."

Nick rolled his eyes and shook his head. "No, you want control. That's it. You should have thought about that before you decided to..." he trailed off, he couldn't voice this. What she had done. It sickened him. She played to loving mother, the moral, level-headed, always trying to better everyone. But she was not. And she did not. She poisoned her way into everyone until her grip was so tight she bled people dry.

"Nick I want you with me. We found a place-" Madison started but Nick cut her off.

"We have a place." He said definitively.

"But you can come with us, Alicia's there. She still thinks your dead. I thought you were dead. It's safe, we have walls, we have livestock. Troy can come, too," she said, looking in between them.

Nick couldn't trust her, wouldn't trust her. But Troy was the one to step forward. Nick grabbed at his arm but Troy shook him off, standing in front of and looking down at Madison.

"If he goes, it's not for you. It's for his sister. And so help me, Madison, if you hurt him."

She cut him off, "I'd never hurt him. He's my son."

"But you did," Nick said and stepped forward, glancing at Troy. "Say we come. Who's to say you won't turn around and...repeat old habits?"

"You have my word," Madison said, laying a hand on Nick's forearm. He didn't pull away.

"Your word's shit, mom," he said back, his eyes hard.

Strand stepped away from the wall, staying silent until now. "Then you have mine. She won't do anything rash." Victor cut his eyes at Madison.

Nick nodded, pulling his arm out of his mother's reach.

"We have a place here. Things we have to do. We will come, but this is still our home." Nick stated. "Where is this place?"

Strand answered him. "Its a few hours north, across the border. A small farm set off in an orchard."

"When are you leaving?" Troy asked, looking between Madison and Victor.

"In the morning, you can come with us, see the place, see Alicia. Then come back here, if that's what you want," Strand finished.

Troy nodded and Nick didn't speak, just laid a hand on the inside of Troy's elbow, applying slight pressure and leading him from the room.

They walked back to their room in silence.

Nick was the first to speak. "Why did you agree to go there?" He asked, incredulous. "We can't trust her."

"I know that," Troy began. "But you trust Strand don't you?"

Nick nodded and took a seat in the armchair, brushing his hair back and loudly breathing out.

"We'll take a few things, let El Matarife know, but we're coming back here. This is our place," Nick said, looking up at the older boy.

Troy nodded. He only agreed because he knew Nick wanted to see his sister. And if Madison and Strand had resources, then they may have some more bartering power here at the Bazarr.

"I can't forgive her," Nick said, breaking Troy out of his thoughts. "You know I can't forgive her, right?"

Troy walked towards him, shushing him and laying a hand on Nick's hair, smoothing it back gently. "I know, I know," he soothed.

Troy sat down on the arm of the chair Nick sat in and Nick leaned his head onto him, Troy sliding his arm around the boys shoulders. "I know."


	20. Prepare

Troy finished with the duffel, setting it atop the dresser. He had loaded a few changes of clothes, some traveling food, things they may need on the road to Madison's new kingdom.

Nick didn't move from his seat. He sat leaned onto his knees, chin resting on top of his hands.

Troy didn't call him on it, just let him be. It was something he knew Nick would have to work through.

"I'm gonna go talk to the boss," Troy said, zipping one of the bags shut.

Nick nodded. "Um, what about...?" He trailed, hoping Troy would pick up the rest.

Troy walked over to him. "We're just going to see the place, Alicia. We'll be back soon, and then we can take the time to figure it out," he assured, rubbing a thumb over Nick's closed hands. Nick nodded again and Troy left the room, headed to speak with El Matarife.

Nick dropped his head into his hands after they other boy left the room. He rubbed hard at his face. He would have to come to terms with this. With her. Where they were going. Why. He just felt overwhelmed. How would he manage to exist around her again? Even if for a short while.

He stood and crossed the room with purpose, pulling the end table from the wall between their cots, and retrieving the small plastic baggie. He slid it into his pocket and sat again, waiting for the time to pass.

(SHIFT)

Troy made his way through the corridor, ducking through the archway into the bar.

"El Matarife," he said as he rounded the bar. "We gotta take off a couple of days."

The old man didn't tear his eyes from the countertop he was wiping. "Emmanuel," he said.

Troy looked at him, confused.

"Always 'El Matarife', 'butcher', 'El Matarife' this 'El Matarife' that. Bah! Emmanuel," he finished, tossing a hand into the air.

"Okay," Troy started, "Emmanuel, we gotta take off a couple of days. Gonna go up to Nick's mom's place. See his sister."

The old man nodded. "The woman, she came back. Placed an order," the older man noted Troy's confused look. "For materials, boy, materials."

Troy nodded, leaning up from the bar.

"Before you leave, tell Nick to come see me," Emmanuel said as he waved Troy away.

He left and headed towards the plaza, hands in his pockets. What else would they need before they headed out in the morning?

He walked to the Bazarr entrance, the toll cages.

"We're gonna be gone a few days, put these on the books for when we get back," Troy told the man inside, sliding over his ring of credits. Troy nodded to the man as he walked back inside.

He headed towards the room Madison and Strand had. He found them packing as well, setting their things by the door.

"So you came here to find Nick or to strike a deal?" Troy asked, leaning on the door frame. Madison looked up from their small heap of bags, dropping the last one down.

"Both," she answered honestly, straightening her shirt.

"So, we just gonna follow you, tomorrow?" He asked, looking in between Victor and Madison.

"I guess," she concluded, "Nick probably doesn't want to ride with me, anyhow. So, you two ride together unless you're wanting to ride with me," she started.

"Yes," Troy surprised her by cutting her off. He knew this time to be wary. This time he would be ready. He wouldn't be blind sided by her again.

She looked up at him, slightly confused. "Why?"

"If we're headed somewhere new, I want to be front and center," he ployed. He just wanted to keep and eye on her. And if she wasn't alone with Nick, that was a start, that meant she couldn't hurt him. And he was okay with that.

"I'll surely enjoy the time I get with Nick," Strand observed. "Better conversationalist. No hard feelings," he nodded to Madison.

"Where's your car?" Troy asked, diverting Madison's attention back to him.

"In the lot, close up, blue suburban," she answered.

Troy didn't respond, just hefted two of the bags onto his shoulders and carried them from the room.

After he finished helping load their vehicle, he headed towards he and Nick's shared room.

It was approaching dusk, and Troy yawned, prepared to get into their room and get some rest before their journey in the morning.

When he arrived back, Nick was still in the armchair. He was asleep now, legs pulled up into the chair, leaning back into its depth. Troy flashed a small smile and went to Nick's cot, pulling his blanket over and laying it on top of the younger boy. He continued to sleep peacefully, so Troy took the Anubis lock and secured their door from the inside, kicking off his boots and flopping into bed.

He lay awake a few minutes, drawing at the patterns of thread in his pillow, before sleep claimed him.


	21. Departure

Nick woke up, stretching his legs from his chair. It was barely daylight, and the light that slipped through the narrow windows was tinged with light green.

Troy was asleep on his cot, turned on his side and snoring lightly. Nick lit a morning cigarette and reached into one of the drawers, pulling out an off-white, slighty worn tee shirt.

He slipped the shirt he wore off, shrugging it into the corner by the dresser.

In one fluid motion, he put the new shirt over his head and, stretching the collar past the tip of his cigarette he slid the shirt on.

He retrieved his cigarette from his mouth, exhaling a long breath before looking back at Troy and unlocking the door.

He made his way through the hallways, turning into the arched doorway behind the bar.

El Matarife nodded at his entrance. "So you're leaving?" He asked, accent peeking through.

Nick nodded, "Just for a few days. We'll be back after I see my sister."

"So, you trust her? After what she did to your boy?" The older man asked, eyeing Nick.

"No," he answered automatically. "I don't. Troy was the one who agreed to go."

El Matarife smiled thoughtfully, "For you, no doubt."

Nick ignored this. "Is there anything you need before we leave. They'll probably be heading out in an hour or so." Nick feigned checking a watch.

"No, just pay attention while you're gone. Figure out what you seek."

Nick wasn't sure what he meant by that, but he nodded a goodbye and set off back to the room to wake Troy.

When he arrived, Troy was already up, lacing up his boots.

"We're leaving soon?" Nick voiced.

Troy only nodded, walking to the dresser and lifting one of the two duffel bags. He jerked his neck for Nick to get the second.

"You need anything else in here?" Troy asked him, eyeing the Anubis lock that he would secure the door with on their departure.

Nick scanned the room, subconsciously fingering the sack of pills in his pocket. He shook his head and led Troy from the room. "Nope."

They headed out of the front gate, towards the large parking lot. Madison and Strand were there already, standing beside a late nineties model suburban.

"You're with me," Strand welcomed at Nick, nodding towards their car parked a few rows over.

Nick threw a confused look at Troy. He followed the older boy to their car and tossed the bag he was carrying into the back seat.

"Why am I riding with Strand? Are you riding with my mom?" Nick asked incredulously.

"So you don't have to. It's okay, Nicky. You'll be fine following us with Victor," Troy stated matter-of-factly.

"I trust Strand, it's not him I'm worried about," Nick retorted, cutting his eyes up at Troy.

Troy just shook his head and scrunched his nose. "I'll be fine. Your mother is in a place where she knows any bad move she makes could jeopardize her mending fences with you. I'll watch her. You don't have to worry about me," he said, putting a hand on Nick's shoulder and squeezing gently. Nick leaned inwards toward Troy's hand.

Strand approached them, "So, are we ready?" He looked in between the boys.

Troy dropped his hand and they nodded in unsion. He chanced a last look, watching Nick duck into the passenger seat as he made his way to Madison's SUV.

"So, why'd you really choose to ride with me?" Madison asked as he climbed into the vehicle.

"So Nick didn't have to," he left it at that, as they pulled away from the parking lines, north on the highway. And to the boys, destination unknown.


	22. Arrival

There was nothing else to do, during the ride. An hour had already passed and Troy grew tired of the boring silence. He cut his eyes at Madison, who stayed looking at the road, one hand on the wheel, the other leaning onto the door of the open window.

"What, Troy?" She asked, not looking away from the road.

He jerked slightly at her voice.

"Why did you hate me so much at first?" He asked, looking down into his lap. He was unsure where the question came from, or which messed up part of his brain put it on auto. But, he stayed quiet, waiting for her reply.

She finally took her eyes from the road, scanning him for a moment, sitting on the question. "Why'd you hate yourself?"

He didn't have an answer for that, at least not one he was willing to relent to Madison. "Do you blame me for Travis? For inciting the Indians, in the beginning?"

She mulled it over, "That wasn't you. That was Taqa's decision. It wasn't you, Troy." She stopped. "Not that time."

Troy looked out of the window, watching patches of weeds rolling through the uneven, dry land. He wondered about the other car. If they were talking, asking questions. He cut his eyes up to the rearview, the mirrored image reflecting a blurry view of the passengers following them.

In the other car, Strand finished his lesson. "So, in a situation like that, where you do not know anything, pretend you do. The whole mood will shift, if you make it seem like you're worth listening to, and that gives you time to plan your disappearance," he smiled slyly at Nick.

Nick sat leaned back in his seat, one foot on the Camry's dash. Strand drove, of course, hands perfectly poised atop the steering wheel. He held it as if the slightest weight would crush it. He just handled things that way, gently, eloquently. Nick respected that. That if anyone left over in this world could remain untouched, it was Strand, with perfectly fitting suits.

"Nicholas," Strand said fervently, causing the boy to look over at him again. "I don't wish to speak on it now, but, I have a task for you. When we arrive at The Orchard, don't make plans. I have something I need you to do."

Troy furrowed his brows, but asked no further, if it were something Strand specifically requested Nick for, it must be important. He would wait until the time when Victor relented the information.

"We'll be arriving shortly," Strand continued, as they turned up a winding gravel road, hedged by trees on either side.

When they were closer, Nick noted a medium sized metal fence surrounding a few hundred acres of rolling hills. Both vehicles pulled into small gravel lot, set off beside what Nick guessed to be the main gate. It had platforms above on either side of it and Nick took in the scene as they all exited the vehicles, moving towards the gate.

And there, standing atop the grated walkway, pulling the pin that cinched the gate together, stood Luciana.

Troy's eyes suddenly found the ground before him fascinating, and Madison threw a sly, masked smile at her only son before entering the gates into her kingdom.

Her subjects again.


	23. The Orchard

Nick took a deep breath. He wasn't expecting this.

He stepped faster and caught up to his mother, catching her by the elbow. "You didn't tell me she was here?" He half-hissed, astounded and slightly excited. Luciana was here.

"My bad," she said, pulling her elbow away. She sauntered off towards a group of buildings, her mild victory allowing for a bounce in her step.

Strand caught up, "I'll give you a tour!," he voiced, smiling, diverting the attention. Luciana stayed on post, watching Nick's retreating figure. "Anderson, Peters, would you please retrieve our cargo?" Strand asked to a few men situated on crates inside the gate. They nodded as they stood, turning towards the exit. "The bags from the Toyota, would you put them in the gallery?" They mumbled agreeances and continued through the gate.

"The gallery?" Troy asked, matching stride with Victor. Nick kept catching himself, having to jerk his head to tear his eyes back, away from Luciana's slim figure atop the gate, fading smaller and smaller as they made their way deeper into the farm.

"Welcome to The Orchard," Strand announced, panning his hands up to the surroundings behind him. "We have horses, cattle, a few sheep, chickens, pigs and the like along with groves of fruit trees. Ample accommodations for you two, as well. You two can stay in the gallery, overlooking the orchard during your stay. It's currently equipped with two twin beds, a sink with running water, a commode and a large lounger. Your bags should be there when you arrive."

"How'd you find this place?" Nick asked, curious, as he squinted his eyes at the man before him.

"I'll never tell," Strand offered playfully, smiling at the pair. Nick was the only one who noticed the gleam of seriousness in his eyes.

"Where's my sister?" Nick continued, scanning the area nearby.

"Most likely on a run with Amelia. She'll be back before dusk," Victor answered.

"Amelia?" Troy questioned.

"Amelia," was all Strand answered as he ushered them towards a small, rectangular building.

The boys walked alongside each other, sharing looks as they took in their surroundings.

When they reached the oblong building, Troy's eyes widened along with Nick's. Opposite the building, behind the settlement was a line of trees, and behind those, another row, and another. And so on, as far as Nick could see, stretched up into the rolling hills behind the farm. The Orchard.


	24. The Gallery

They stepped into the gallery, through a wide metal door opposite the rolling hills of The Orchard.

Troy crossed the room, to a floor-to-ceiling landscaped window looking out into the grove of trees.

The widow covered the entire length of the back wall of the rectangular room. The left hand side of the room housed a small, set-wall bathroom. Opposite it were two twin-sized beds, on either side of the shorter wall. One bed laid against the window-wall.

Troy scoffed at this. There was absolutely no privacy from the outside thanks to the gallery overlook.

Strand sensed his discontentment and spoke as Nick flopped onto the large brown suede lounger in the center of the room. "Mirrored, tempered, shaded. The slight blue film you see wavering is a one way film." He motioned at the window. "You can gaze endlessly at the tress and all the while you're shielded from outside," he finished, taking a step back and bowing slightly. Not a sign of respect. Just a sign of Strand. "Alright, gentlemen, I'll leave you to it. When you finish getting settled in, meet us beside the corral. It's in the middle of the three blue buildings," he finished and made his leave, closing the metal door behind him.

Troy turned away from the window, looking to Nick who was sprawled out on the lounger. It seemed the men from earlier had previously entered and their bags were laid on each of the beds.

"She's here," Troy voiced distantly, turning back to the window-wall. He shoved his hands into his pockets, waiting for Nick's reply.

"So?" Nick said, feigning disinterest, although inside he was slightly delighted at her new-found presence.

Troy didn't answer, just turned and made his way to one of the beds, grabbing a bag and walked across the room.

He entered the small, thin-walled bathroom and let the bag thud to the floor.

He leaned onto the sink, looking up into the small, minimally dirty mirror.

Troy pulled his shirt over his head and turned the tap on, dampening the cleanest corner of the shirt he could find. He used the wet corner and began wiping the grime from his hands, rubbing the daily dust away. He rinsed his upper body, using the shirt corner to wipe down his chest.

Lastly, he dipped his head under the cold water, watching its slight discoloration as it rinsed his curls.

He was unaware of Nick leaving the room.


	25. Familiar

Nick slid off of the lounger, looking to the bathroom door. It wasn't fully shut and Nick could barely make out a thin line of mirror reflecting Troy, flinging water on his face.

He slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him gently.

Slipping his hands into his jacket pockets, he walked off, away from the gallery and away from the buildings.

He chose to follow the fence outlining the perimeter. He followed the chain link that sometimes shifted into posts with barbed wire. Followed it down small slopes and up again. Followed the fence until it led him back to the front gate.

She watched him approach, squinting her eyes from the sun and mindlessly picking fuzz from her boot laces.

As he made his way closer, she dropped down from the landing, brushing her over shirt straight as it whipped in the easy breeze.

"Luciana," Nick spoke first, stepping towards her.

"Nick," she replied, easily.

They stared at each other for a long moment before they collided into each other.

He pulled her to him and gripped her tight. It wasn't out of affection, out of the love they had shared. It was relief. Solace that she had left but here she was, still breathing. And he thanked whatever gods remained for that. It would take a moment before Nick would fall back into step with her, he knew. But he was just glad he had the chance, that she was here and alive.

"I'm so glad you made it," Nick said into her hair. He squeezed her a moment before leaning back and pulling her to face him. Only a few inches away. He felt the pull, to dip his lips on hers, but he ignored it. It would take time.

"Ademas," she replied. "Likewise."

He brushed a hand across her face, moving flyaway hairs that were caught in the breeze.

Her long black hair whipped in the wind.

They stood like that for a moment just looking at each other. It was easy. A familiar, trophy feeling that eeked into his mind. It would be easy to come back to, he thought. They'd been easy before. In step with each other. They had history. They had time.

He stepped back, growing his resolve. She had left him, he remembered. She had left, with a note, in the night. It would take more than a reunion. She sensed the tension, crossing her arms in on herself and looking up into his eyes.

"Nick, I know that it won't be easy, para perdonar, to forgive, to trust, again," She started, searching his eyes. "But, I want you to know that I'd like to try. To start again?" She finished, leaving the open-ended question as that, open.

"You weren't the only thing that disappeared when you left," he said softly, looking down to the ground.

She nodded at him, understanding. She would have to work for it, to gain his trust again. It was her fault she had lost it in the first place. She turned and ascended the ladder back to the gatekeeper's post.

He shoved his hands back into his pockets, turning his attention from the ground to Luciana, settling on the metal walkway and looking out onto the outskirts of the farm.

He turned and left, walking back towards the center of the village-like farm.


	26. Revelations

Nick didn't look back again. Instead he hopped over a small turn row that separated the dirt roads from the fields he had just crossed.

He began to walk up the main road from the gate, towards the middle of the little city.

As he approached, he noticed about a dozen people, scattered throughout the good sized area. Milling about, filling buckets, feeding chickens. A little community. He wondered how long it would last.

Nick closed the distance, curving between two of the blue buildings Strand had mentioned earlier. As he rounded the corner of the building the corral came into view. It was a large, aluminum, gated circle in the center of the buildings. Strand sat on top of one of the beams making up the enclosure. He had on leg perched on the next bar down, hands resting over the knee and the other was dangling. He hopped down when he noticed Nick's arrival.

"Glad you made it, Nick," he voiced, walking towards the boy. Strand seemed to be the only one here.

"You said 'meet us', so where is everyone?"

"In time," the older man replied, easily. "But, first, I need to have that talk with you. I'm glad your stray puppy hasn't come along, yet."

Nick quirked his lips, furrowing his brows slightly, but ignored the semi-innocent jab at Troy.

"So, what do you want?" He asked, looking slightly interested.

"There is a woman, at El Bazarr, she has something for me. The package wasn't...ready...when we left. I need you to retrieve it for me," he finished, setting his large brown eyes onto Nick.

Nick thought about this for a moment. "There's always a deal, huh?"

Strand smiled, "Always, but this one, far less repercussions. Just, information you could say."

Nick nodded. He found his mind had already accepted the mission. He voiced this to Victor.

"Excellent. Madison has an envoy going out in two days, to pick up an order from your butcher. You can go along then. Her name is Serena. She's...distant family..." he trailed off, looking down. The resolve came a moment later, as per usual. "But, she has the information I inquired about. I need you to get that for me. Under the door, to the gallery, in the morning I'll leave her location. "

Nick nodded, again, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He didn't get a chance to reply before his mother began walking up from the other side of the corral. The conversation between them ceased.

A moment later, Troy turned in from behind another building, coming from the direction of the gallery. A pang of guilt hit Nick for a fraction of a second. Did Troy know he had left to go see Luciana? He pushed it to the back of his mind.

Madison rounded the last few feet of the corral and stopped next to Victor.

Troy approached, squinting his eyes at the mid-afternoon sun. "Go explorin', Nicky?" He voiced, not looking at Nick.

He ignored this and turned to face his mother. "So, Alicia go out a lot?"

"Every couple of days now, trading and bartering with a salvage yard that's a couple miles east of here, over the last ridge," she replied and cut her eyes towards where the sun rises.

"Surprising you okayed it," Nick jabbed, narrowing his eyes at his mother.

She brushed it off, looking down then back at him. "Our shipment from El Matarife comes to the Bazarr tomorrow. I'll be sending a van out to pick it up. Nick, since you know this guy, I'd like to ask you to sit in on this deal. Make sure its appeasing for both sides."

Nick looked at Strand for a nanosecond. "I was planning on heading there with your envoy. And we do have a toe hold there."

"Works for me," Troy stated, setting his hands on his hips.

Madison turned to him, "Actually, I was gonna ask for your help with something."

He turned to look at her, slightly bewildered. He'd go with Nick.

"Training, with the guns, the growing and the animals. You lived that. You grew up in that. Any tips you could give would help my people. Steer 'em in the right direction," Madison half-asked, putting her hands on her waist and looking up at Troy. That tone. Steering in her direction.

Troy cut his eyes to Nick, who returned his look but nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Works for me," Troy repeated, though he himself felt very differently about it.

"When do we leave? Your man and me?" Nick asked his mother.

"An hour or so after first light. They'll be waiting at the Suburban," she answered, "Victor, would you show Troy to the observation dome?" She turned to Troy. "I'd like you to meet us there tomorrow. I wanna show you some layout plans, get your ideas on if of defense is good enough, too.

Troy thought about this. It was a smart idea, for her to ask, with his expertise and all. But, he couldn't let Nick go off without him. Troy couldn't protect him if he wasn't around him. But Nick never swayed from the idea. Maybe he had his own plans as well.

They finished discussing the schedule and Madison left to attend to something in the Orchard.

"Meet you back in the room?" Nick asked at Troy.

The older boy nodded, hands on his hips, then started off behind Strand, who was headed to the largest blue building. When Troy crossed the threshold, the air became cooler, shaded from the outside rays.

It was a large, open two story building. The second floor was open on one side, near stairs but closed off towards the larger section of the floor.

Strand began to ascend the staircase, sliding his hand up the banister as he went.

Troy followed suit and stepped onto the landing of the second floor. There were a few doors on the left, as well as one large set of double doors on the right of the staircase.

Strand stepped to them and opened the French doors wide, pulling himself through. Making an entrance although there was no one to greet him. He did it for himself. One of Strand's outstanding qualities.

Troy walked in behind him and was led to another, smaller, steeper set of stairs. He opened a rectangular, hatch-like wooden door at the top of the stairs, pushing it upwards. Troy heard it thud onto the ceiling above him.

The boy climbed the attic-like stairs and pushed into a guest bedroom sized observation room.

It was shaped like a dome. Like the top of the white house. But it was all glass. The late afternoon sun shown through the dome into the off-white observation room. It was set on the room of the building, tallest building as well and the glass dome allowed for an overlook of the large entirety that made up the farm and the Orchard. He could see out to the edge of the trees, could see all the way to the front gate and blue blots of their vehicles in the opposite direction. If he turned to the east, Troy could see the ridges Madison had spoke of, of where Nick's sister traveled.

"Like the view?" Strand spoke, bringing Troy back to reality. It was a very good observatory indeed. Could see miles in each direction.

He nodded, turning and taking in what was in the room, not just outside it. There were a few slightly stained beige armchairs around a coffee table. On the other curved wall was a large desk with papers scattered across from it. Troy smiled when he saw a good sized telescope, sitting off beside a bookshelf. The curved circle shape of the room made everything seem very closed in. But the glass of the walls and ceiling helped in that aspect. Troy wondered what it was like here at night.

Nothing closed off. Everything in the skies in sight. The world outside of the world.

Strand spoke again. "This is where we discuss Orchard business. Plans. Defenses. Work duties. Madison plays it all out from here. She and I also have the rooms across the hall and below us. Kind of a city hall," he laughed.

"You always end up with the good end of the stick don't you?" Troy noted.

"As compared to?" Stand continued, sitting on the arm of one of the beige chairs.

"How do you always find a way to make things better for yourself?" Troy questioned. How conniving could Strand truly be? The boy was just learning of him, really.

"I fail upwards," Strand said and it surprised him. "To the level of my own incompetence."

Troy studied the older man, and leaned back against the worn bookcase. "There's always change. Always have to adapt," Troy said. He knew that. He was used to change. Quick-thinking. Always a solution to draw out at a moment's notice.

"It's the churn, boy," Strand proclaimed. Troy raised an eyebrow. Victor continued, "Ever changing, ever present, circle of problems. Revolving around us in a pattern, repetitive. And some men like us die, and it doesn't really matter. Or we survive it, we evolve, and it still doesn't really matter. Just swirl within the churn."

Troy eyed the man thoughtfully. He felt like he kind of understood. Either having to adapt to move on, or just choose not to move on. You had to make decisions to survive. Hard decisions. He knew some people could never make that choice. And they end up paying with their lives. You have to evolve.

"I can agree with that," Troy said, leaning up from the shelf. He stepped towards the stair hatch.

"That's good, then," Victor replied, "A person like-minded in self preservation. This world becomes you. We just outlast it. Outwit it. Fail upwards. Some people were made for this. Preconditioned for survival." Strand then came to find, he somehow did respect that in the younger boy in front of him.

Troy nodded and stepped down the opening on to the steep ladder-like staircase. He connected to this revelation, and it just confirmed his beliefs. There will always be choices to make. He exited the room below and turned left to the lower floor, leaving the building.


	27. Unobstructed

Troy exited the building, strolling around the corral. He was surprised to find the late afternoon son had drifted lower on the horizon. It seemed he was so enthralled in the conversation, he hadn't noticed from the dome.

Dusk coming. Then nightfall. Again, he thought of how the night might look, laying in the floor in the center of that dome. Or looking through the dusty telescope that sat abandoned by the bookcase. The total, openness that piqued his curiosity, but still enclosed. Still contained. Not completely free, but the thought of it.

He strolled lazily past a few other buildings, towards the direction of the gallery. He wondered if Nick was there. Or if he was out, meandering as well.

When Troy got closer, he found himself deviating from the route leading to the door of the gallery. He strayed from the course and curved around the building.

Troy trotted down a small decline, heading for the grove of trees.

A half-worn, hay-filled scarecrow sat perched on a wooden cross in front of a large path cutting through the Orchard.

He walked around it and into the trees. The path was worn into the fruitful woods and leaves scattered about in the soft wind that found itself trapped in the grove. He walked through for a few minutes, turning here and there. Surveying, exploring. He cut back onto the main path and hear a soft thud across from him.

He stepped towards the sound, and the soft scuffle of something on grass that followed.

Troy rounded a tree to find Madison, kneeling by a plastic crate, inspecting green apples that lay strewn about at the base of the tree.

She underhanded one into the crate and looked up at Troy as he leaned against the tree trunk.

"What brings you out here," she started, rising from her kneeling position. She picked an apple from the crate as she stood, dusting her other hand against her jeans.

"Vitamin A," he replied, sarcastically, causing her to toss the apple at him. It bounced on his chest but he caught it regardless, spinning it in his hand and the wiping it on his shoulder before taking a loud bite. After a second he grimaced, scrunching his nose. "Sour."

"Figured you were used to that," she said, leaning back down and tossing a few more of the green apples into the crate. She stood and started to pick the crate up, but Troy stepped forward.

He slid his apple into the front pocket of his shirt and lifted the full crate easily from the ground. He used his knee to lift it up further in order to place his grip on the bottom of the container. He turned back to the main path and Madison trailed up behid.

It wasn't that heavy, he noted, and after a few feet he shifted the crate to his hip, one arm wrapped around the side. With the other, he dug out his apple and took another bite. It was juicy, still a little sour. But it still had that 'apple' taste. Kinda gritty but the consistency was satisfying.

Madison caught stride with him and he spoke.

"I like the room," he started, looking through the tops of the trees to see if the dome was visible. It wasn't. The blooms of the trees were too thick. Convoluted the entire environment around you. Made you think there was nothing but trees, unless you were on the main path, looking out at the old scarecrow.

"The dome?" She asked, still matching his pace even though his leg span was quite bigger. "It's a damned good crow's nest."

He nodded back, chewing and eventually swallowing another piece. He decided he didn't want to deal much more with the sour. He discarded the half-eaten apple into the crate.

Madison caught this and leaned an arm in front of him, brushing past his chest as she reached towards the crate in his other arm.

She plucked the partly eaten apple from the top and tossed it among the trees near the end of the path.

He quirked the left side of his mouth up, but neither said anything. As they passed the scarecrow Madison removed the crate from Troy's grasp.

"We'll see you in the dome, in the morning, after Nick leaves," she turned and started towards the main buildings.

Troy watched her leave for a moment before scaling the small slope up to the gallery. As he rised the top, he caught eye of himself in the reflection of the window-wall. The one-way film cast back him topping the slow, hundreds of trees tying together ground and sky behind him.

Nick watched from inside the gallery, on the lounger. Before Troy disappeared around the corner of the building.

The door opened a few moments later, and a small smile came to Nick's lips and Troy slipped into the room.

"Have you ate?" Troy voiced as he entered the room.

Nick snickered. "Haven't been hungry," he answered honestly.

Troy crossed the rectangular room and dug in a bag on the bed. He pulled out a sleeve of crackers that were surprisingly only half broken. Or at least forty percent. Troy tossed the white plastic bag over to Nick. "Put something on your stomach." It wasn't a question, not a direct order. He didn't have that tone. It was slightly pleading, more of a guiding. But Nick relented, peeling the plastic open and popping one into his mouth.

"I guess you can just leave the bags here. With me. If you're going home, anyway," Troy cut his eyes over at Nick, resenting the idea. "And I have to stay here."

"It won't be that long man, a few days max. Pick up some things for mom, handle a little business," Nick assured, thinking of the quest Strand gave him. "And plus I need you here."

This surprised Troy and the narrowed look left his eyes, replaced by a cocked eyebrow.

"I need you to keep an eye out. On the situation here, on my mother. How things are going for my sister. A lady at the chicken pen said she'd seen them arrive back. Alicia and But, they had to unload at some shop where they repair the vehicles. I'm gonna go look for her before I crash tonight," Nick said, filling Troy in on his findings. "But, like I said. I need you to stay, just for a few days, while I go handle this. And when I get back, you can tell me what learned. I want you to be wary. Get in with people and see what they're up too. My mother always has an underlying plan."

Troy nodded. He understood Nick's reasoning, although he didn't agree with it. Sure, there was ample reason to gain intel on Madison, considering their past dealings with her. But, he also didn't trust Nick going out without him. Yes, Nick had survived alone and before Troy ever came along. But, it had developed into sort of a residual activity, shared activities. Had no need to stray from each other's company. And that included the protectiveness Troy felt towards Nick, which he would never admit. His stomach turned at the idea of Nick being hours away, for a few days.

"Whatever you say," Troy replied, voice laced with disdain at the morning plan. He grabbed a water bottle from the bag and twisted the cap. Upending the bottle, he gulped down half before tossing it through the air to the lounger. Nick caught it deftly and stood, making his way towards the door to look for Alicia before the night grew even darker. "See you in the morning," Troy finished, standing from the bed.

He gripped the fabric at his hips and pulled his shirt over his head. He tossed the shirt into the corner by the bed with the bag on it. Troy kicked off his boots and flopped down onto the bed by the window-wall.

Nick left the room with the image of Troy's bare back, stretched out onto the bed.

Troy stared through the dim, luminance the moon caused, shooting off shiny green leaves in waves. Multitudes of tides sliding through the canopy as the leaves shook in the breeze. He noticed a ripple, a waver in the film on this side of the glass. He lazily reached a finger up, dancing along the ribbed ridges in the blue plastic. He knew he need to get some rest. He was sure it would be difficult to come by after Nick left in the morning, and while was gone.

One of the bumps cracked slightly. He worked the tip of his index finger and idly peeled off pieces of the film leaving himself with a small, uneven oval of clear glass. He nodded off, staring through the un-blued view of the Orchard.


	28. Travel

Troy awoke minutes before the sun breached the horizon. He blinked himself steady in the dim, prelit room. Shadows casting shades of washed-out blue through the room.

Nick lay asleep on the bed across from him and Troy pushed himself slowly up off of the bed. He was half-glad it did squeak like he'd made point to avoid. He pulled himself into a sitting position and rubbed a hand down his bare chest.

Troy leaned down, using long fingers to snatch at the duffel strap at the end of his bed. He slid it across the floor to him, yawning and retrieving an olive colored tee shirt. He slipped it on and decided to change out of his pants from yesterday that he had slept in. He searched in the bag again, pulling out a pair of light-weight black cargo pants that were rolled and stuffed in haste into the duffel. He removed his slightly worn jeans he'd had on and stepped into the black pants.

A light jingle sounded on the pants' ascent towards his hips. He patted his pocket until he found the one that held the source. On his right thigh, the large snap-top pocket housed the multi-colored paper clip chain he'd made in town, the day after the dam. He smiled at this in the predawn light.

Troy then split the chain in half, sliding one half into his pocket again and draping the other over his left wrist. He sat back down on the bed and turned his wrist slightly inwards. He attempted to clasp it quickly, but gravity let it slide down the back of his hand repeatedly. The Otto boy brought his wrist to his mouth and let his lips pin the metal to his skin as he slid the other metal end through and clasped it together.

He pulled his hand away and shook his wrist. Troy let the jangle of the paper clip bracelet be his fanfare. He stood from the bed, simultaneously slipping into his boots as he stepped away. He was careful not to wake the younger boy.

Troy chose to empty his laptop satchel that was perched against the duffel bag. He pulled his notebook out from its claimed space in the zipper pocket. He reached into his own pocket and pulled out the other paper clip chain. He opened the cover of his notebook and retrieved the keys to the Anubis lock on their door at the Bazarr folded up in the first page. He attached the paper clips like some kind of key chain and slid the newly merged items into the zipper pocket.

He also loaded the satchel with a sleeve of crackers and a few water bottles. Nick would find whatever else he needed when he got back to their room. Just travel snacks. Nick could eat some crackers.

He flipped the cover back over the satchel and crossed the room to the door, slipping out just as the blue hues turned damp yellow.

Troy turned in the direction of the fence, heading towards the gate and eventually the Suburban Madison had elected for this trip. If Troy could load what Nick needed before he needed it, Nick only had to wake up, get dressed, eat something hopefully and be on his way. It would be more convenient for Nick, to have things just fall into place. No having to schedule, to plan. Troy could do this for him.

It would also be convenient to Troy. If Nick could leave on time, he could be back on time, or earlier if luck joined in. Troy slightly resented Nick for that. Leaving and making Troy stay. He brushed the thoughts from his head, idly running long fingers through his lengthy curls. He absently thought he needed it cut, as he closed the distance towards the gate.

To his surprise, it was slid open a few feet. He passed through the gate, and turned towards the small gravel parking lot they had arrived at just yesterday.

Lucianna sat perched on back bumper of the Suburban. There were a few black, cloth bags laying at her feet, and a few sat behind her on the back floor of the open hatch.

"What're you doing here?" Troy asked, one arm coming to rest on his hip, the other gripping the satchel strap.

"Packing for the day," she replied easily, sliding off the back of the vehicle and grabbing a few of the bags, tossing them in behind her. "Y tu? And you?" She asked, not interested in the conversation in the slightest.

"Same," Troy answered, and turned towards the passenger side of the vehicle. So Lucianna was the 'man' Madison was sending for the Orchard. Troy couldn't help but feel it was planned. Purposeful, from Madison in some way. He dropped the satchel through the open window and said nothing else as he walked back through the gate.

Troy turned off of the main road, cutting through one of the fields toward the gallery.

When he arrived, Nick was still asleep. The over cast, washed out color of the room had lifted, brightened into growing shades of gold, as it filtered the early morning light through the window-wall.

Troy slid a hand into the duffel again, retrieving two 'Kickstart' granola bars. He'd hope Nick would want to eat. Sometimes, he just didn't though. He walked over to where the young Clark boy slept, on his stomach, one arm under his head, the lower half of his left leg dangling off of the bed.

Troy brought his boot up and nudged him slightly. "Rise and shine, Nicky," he voiced, prodding Nick in the hip with his knee.

Nick blinked awake, rolling onto his back.

"What time is it?" He breathed, rubbing his eyes.

"Who knows," Troy replied, stepping back and tossing one of the bars onto Nick's chest. "Quarter past time to get up. I'd say."

Nick didn't reply, just grabbed at a water bottle laying on its side on the floor by his bed.

"Lucianna's going," Troy found himself saying as he took a seat on the edge of the lounger.

"With mom's envoy?" Nick queried, tearing the corner of the granola's wrapping.

Troy was glad for the sound. It meant he might actually eat it. Or stare at it. Crumbling the pieces idly. "She is your mom's envoy. Just you and her going. I went out there earlier, to drop a bag for you. She was loading the truck, too. Enough for a few days. But only for a few people. Just you and her."

Nick was befuddled. Although he didn't know, he felt the same as Troy. This was something his mother had done precisely. "It's done. We're gonna go, get the shit, get back and then we can go home, okay? Just trust me, I need you here. And in three days, we're gone."

Troy hated the idea. But, if he just let it happen, let it roll with the tide, then it'd all be over quicker. And with Troy here, eyes on the ground, he may just find out what exactly Madison is most likely concocting.

Nick knew this, too. That he needed Troy to stay, to watch, to observe. To assess and document. It was one of his things. And with his mother, there were always plans. Like Strand, there are always deals.

Nick pulled himself up from the bed, shoving half of the granola bar in his mouth. He washed it down with a long pull of water, tossing the other half of the bar onto his bed. Troy shook his head slightly, but said nothing, at least he had eaten half of it.

Nick pulled his boots on, readjusting the laces. After he had finished, the pair left the gallery, striding through the hilly fields towards the front gate.

As they approached, Troy noticed the gate closed, and one of the men from yesterday, Anderson, who Strand had addressed, perched on the crow's nest, gatekeeper post. He slid the pin up, allowing Troy to slide the gate open. He nodded to the man above him and passed through, Nick on his heels, hands in his pockets.

Lucianna sat atop the hood, using a small black knife to peel off sections of an apple. She looked up for a moment, but didn't approach the boys at the gate. She went back to slicing the apple.

"Nicky, you can't just go," Troy surprised him, stopping him at the gate, catching the younger boy's arm, gently.

"I have to," Nick said, turning back to him.

"Then let me go with you, not her," Troy pleaded with his eyes, his voice was calm.

"Lucianna is going for the Orchard, I'm going for us, El Matarife, our place." Nick thought of Strand in that moment, too, but, he left it out. It was just for Strand. "I need you here."

"I don't want to stay here without you. Or anywhere for that matter," Troy relented. He couldn't protect Nick if he wasn't with him.

"I need you here," Nick repeated. "You need to stay and watch her. Get back in either her and weed out the ulterior motive. There always is one with her." 

"Reconnaissance," Troy offered, nodding, still displeased with the idea. "Recce. Be smart, Nick. You watch everything, too." He cut his eyes to Lucianna who had slid into the driver's seat of the suburban.

"I'll be okay," Nick assured, "And I'll be back. Just going home for a few days to swap. If I don't have me, El Matarife does."

Troy nodded, releasing Nick's arm, sliding his hand down and brushing Nick's a moment.

Then Nick was in the SUV turned van, seats ripped out for hauling. Troy watched him slide in, setting the satchel in his lap and pulling the door closed. He watched Lucianna pull away towards where they had made their home. And Troy was stuck here.

Troy turned back through the gate, picking at the paper clips at his wrist, walking up the main road, through the main building, and into the dome.


	29. Fence

Troy was still beating himself up about letting Nick go without him. Different scenarios on what he might have been able to say to convince Nick to let him go with him, or stay here, flitted through his mind.

He inhaled deeply to clear the thoughts as he crossed the threshold of the French doors and made his way to the corner of the room.

The hatch was already open, and bright light streamed down onto the steep, ladder-like stairs he climbed.

When he topped the landing he turned into the room; Madison was leaned onto the desk, behind it, Strand sat on the opposite corner, arms crossed and one leg slung over the desk, the other on the floor.

Victor looked up and nodded at his entry. Madison's eyes continued to scour the papers below her.

"Morning," Troy greeted them, "Nick just left...with Luciana."

Strand looked up, a slight crease in his brow. Perhaps he wasn't aware. But Troy knew Madison was. She took a moment to look up, laying a large slip of paper down. "Yeah," she basically ignored, turning to Strand. "This isn't going to work."

Strand slid from the corner of the desk, turning to face the papers. Troy stepped over to them, curious, but from his perch over Victor's shoulder, he could only make out rough lines over the page. Measurements.

"It's not entirely implausible, Madison. You just have to have that kind of mind," Victor replied, turning to the young man behind him. "Troy, have a look at this."

Troy stepped around him and leaned down, studied the lines on the paper.

"We're trying to sever the fence here," Madison pointed to a beam of graphite strokes. "Put in a gate on the east side. There's about fifty yards through dirt to the side road Alicia takes to the junkyard. Be a lot easier to send them out from there, instead of halfway around the property."

"So, what's the problem?" Troy asked, looking in between them, "Cut the section of the fence, tack-weld a roller bar and stick some wheels on it."

Madison and Victor shared a look. "The entire fence, barring the posts to the right of the main gate, it's all on a track, a metal frame that runs the whole perimeter. Like a grid. And it's not just welded up, it's nuts and bolts and lots of thread holes. Someone took time putting up this wall," Madison told him.

Troy became confused. The whole fence was fastened to the ground? "Huh," Troy said, slipping the paper from the desk and sitting back onto the wide arm of one of the chairs. "Are these measurements true?" He asked, not looking up.

"Paces," Strand answered, waggling his loafer. "Foot for foot."

"What is this border connected to?" Troy wondered aloud.

"Not sure, but the tracks are anchored in the ground," Madison spoke.

Strand stood from the desk, crossing his arms again. "Must we always ask questions?"

Troy ignored this, already pondering on the cause for such a design of fence. "Tape measure?" He looked over to Madison. "Where can I get one? And more paper. And tools." Fortifying defense kind of excited him. Showered him in a wave of mania that he was grateful for. Because it allowed him to think past Nick gone, alone, without him, and with Lucianna. Let him block the worry and the little bit of anger he felt. He felt good he had a project to take his mind off of it.

"And a map, of the perimeter, of where you want the gate. I'll go out there now," Troy said, waiting on Madison to send him in the right direction.

"I'll take you," she said and it surprised him enough he looked up from the sketch. "I've got a tool bag, its brown, sitting at the end of my bed. It's the room on the right. Grab it, and I'll meet you out front with the rest of the layout plans."

Troy nodded and he and Strand descended from the dome. When he exited the room below, Troy turned to the door to his right. The gold, wide handle was cold to the touch as he palmed it down, pushing the door open.

A wide, thick-canopied bed sat against the far wall, sitting on a large deep red rug that covered most of the hardwood. A small, hand-sanded bench rested at the foot of the bed and the tool bag was slid half-under it.

Troy slid a boot in and kicked the bag outwards. It toppled sending a few tools from it's unzipped middle. Troy crouched down, pulling a pocket-sized square level, a marking pencil, a few loose screws and drill bit back into the back. He reached to the right of his boot for the last item, grabbing for it's wooden handle.

A ball-peen hammer.

Troy froze as his fingers made contact with the smooth wood. A sharp flash shocked through his mind but it was gone in an instant. He blinked hard, willing the memory away. After a few seconds, he gripped his fingers around the handle and slid it back into the bag, zipping it shut. He stood and turned around.

Strand stood leaned in the doorway, but stepped back when Troy turned to face him.

"I choose to believe you'll be alright out there," he commented, meeting eyes with the Otto boy.

"What do you mean?" Troy asked, warily.

"With Madison. You see, she's not liken to do anything rash right now. Not when Nick's loyalty is hanging so precariously in the balance," Strand answered.

"Then I choose to believe that, also. Although, I probably would have said that before, too," Troy joked, yet another coping mechanism he would not concede to.

"She's placid, right now, at the moment. I've come to learn she's grown into stages. A cycle. Tranquil, as of late. But, Lord help you when she's not at rest," Strand finished, leaving Troy slightly confused and only half-enlightened. He turned from the door. "I'll come out, and check on you if you're not around before dusk," Victor admitted, sliding his hands into his dress slacks and walking downstairs.

Troy took a second and adjusted the nylon straps in his hand. He wiped his face and walked out of the door, turning the right and descending the stairs quickly.

He honestly couldn't wait to get outside and to the fence, start tearing apart, building up. It led his mind away from Nick and Lucianna, alone in the suburban. Alone at their place. Their place. He shook his last few thoughts away and he swung the front door open, stepping out into the bright morning.

"We'll take the Gator," Madison called to him from his left. She swung herself into the side-by-side and started the engine. Troy dropped the tool bag into the small bed on the back of the ATV.

He rounded the side and lifted a plastic, container clipboard from his seat. He slid onto the bench seat next to Madison and sat the clipboard with the property layout and plans on it onto his lap.

Troy tapped his fingers on the surface of it as Madison reversed from the building's side, shifted, and coasted through the two other buildings. She accelerated as they pulled the Gator out from in between the buildings.

Troy involuntarily reached for the grip handle welded to the door cage.

Madison pulled them down and up small slopes, driving east on the farm.

They slowed to a stop after they topped a small hill and the fence came in sight.

Troy exited the vehicle, taking a few steps and looking out to the fence, and beyond it, to the large, hazy ridges set off in the sky.

Then, he looked to Madison. The only other soul around him for a mile or so, now.

Out here. Alone.


	30. Bazaar

The ride back to the Bazarr was seething with tension.

Lucianna never brought it up and neither did Nick.

They had both decided to ignore it and treat today as if it were any other. That the company their shared was anyone else.

"What made you come back?" Nick asked, finally looking away from the window. His arm still dangled out, rising and dipping as if were riding the breeze.

"You really want to know?" She eyed him from the passenger side.

"Lay it on me," Nick answered, meeting her eyes. "How'd ya make it back here?"

"I was miles north from Tijuana, when I heard about the dam from a traveling merchant. She said the dam workers that made it out before the attack, spoke of a loco gringo," Luciana said, and cut her eyes at Nick, a small smile curving on her lips. "Said he challenged the attackers, blew them up, along with the dam. They called him 'Cabello salvaje', 'wild hair'," she added and laughed. After a moment her face turned solemn and she looked down from the road for a second.

"I went looking for a body," she said quietly. Nick watched her through half-lidded eyes. She continued, "But, then I found Victor and Alicia, they were canvassing the brushes on the edge of the water for your mother. I asked about you, but they had nothing to say. Alicia seemed distant. Then we found her, Madison. She was searching on the opposite side of the river. It took a few miles down before she could cross without fear of the agua carrying her away." Lucianna readjusted her hands on the steering wheel, stealing a glance at Nick.

"How'd you all end up there? At the Orchard?" He returned her look, setting his brown eyes on hers.

"Victor, he'd had a map. He had left it in the end of a tunnel in a saco," She explained. "He said it was his ultimate plan if things went bad. Which they always do."

Nick cut his eyes over to her. "Things were good sometimes." He turned back to the window, cupping his hand and lighting a cigarette.

They didn't speak again in the twenty-seven minutes it took to arrive at the Bazarr.

Lucianna put the SUV in park and Nick slid out of the passenger side.

They walked up to the entrance cage, Lucianna a few feet behind.

Nick began to walk through, nodding at the woman in the toll cage. He was halfway through when her voice stopped him. "You are fine, but she has to buy in. Ella no es tu chico," the woman finished. Lucianna cut her eyes at the lady in the chainlink box.

"Just put it on us," Nick relented, grabbing Lucianna gently by the shoulder and guiding her through the guarded entryway.

"Us?" She asked once they were in the plaza. "Your boss?"

"This is our place," Nick said, not meeting her eyes. He ducked to the right, through an arched, concrete doorway. Lucianna trailed behind.

They arrived at El Matarife's bar, zoned-out, smiling customers lounged throughout the room. Nick approached the bar and slid comfortably on a familiar barstool.

Lucianna stood in a spot beside him, against the counter. She didn't pull a stool.

Nick looked down the bar and noticed El Matarife making his way towards them, coming from a few laughing patrons down the way.

Nick smiled at him as he approached. El Matarife stopped in front of the pair and leaned onto the bar, looking back and forth between them.

"Where is he?" El Matarife asked, eyes boring into Nick's.

Nick was slightly taken aback. "He's at their camp," Nick replied quickly. "He's fine, helping with some farming lessons while I'm here. He's good," he finished.

"Good," El Matarife huffed, then turned to Lucianna. "You're here for Madison, correct?"

Lucianna nodded, hadn't found the words to speak, yet.

"Well, I have good news and I have bad news. Necesita equilibrio," the older man said, looking in between Nick and Lucianna. "I received panels today. But not the whole order. I have about twenty. The rest will come in tres days time."

Nick arched a brow. "Panels?"

"Solar panels," Lucianna finished for him, nodding.

"So, we have to wait around three more days for the rest of the shipment?" Nick asked, quirking his lip in a slight snarl.

"Boy," El Matarife began, leaning down towards him. The look left Nick's face quickly. "This is not your deal, you don't have to do anything."

Lucianna eyed him warily. Nick wasn't sure if she thought he would leave her here to wait it out on her own, or if she didn't trust waiting here with him, anyhow.

"Well, if we're gonna be here a few days, I guess let's go unload," Nick said, standing. He turned from the bar and cut around it through the back corridor. Lucianna followed close behind, nodding to El Matarife as they left.

Nick stopped in front of the heavy, metal door to his room. He leaned into Troy's satchel he had slung over his side and dug into the bag. After unzipping the pocket on the inside, he removed the keys to the padlock. They were hooked into a ring of paperclips. Nick laughed, remembering the first morning after he had found Troy. The broad, innocent smile Troy beamed at him when he displayed his work.

Nick took one of the keys in between his thumb and index fingers, sliding it into the bottom of the lock and turning it, waiting on the clink and pop of the lock sliding free. He toed the door open with his worn boot, stepping inside.

He tossed the makeshift key ring in his hand a few times before deftly clasping it around his left wrist, keys dangling like oversized charms. Nick finished the clasping motion, making quick work of it, to his surprise. It seemed he was good with his fingers.

"We can bring the stuff from the suburban here," Nick advised Lucianna. She was standing in the center of the room, next to one of the armchairs Nick had pulled to the middle. She ran her hand along the back of it, examining the room.

"So this was the room you and Troy stayed in, here?" Lucianna asked.

"Is," Nick replied quickly. "Yeah, it's our room."

Lucianna crossed the few feet from the armchair, towards the cove where their cots sat.

She took a seat on the end of the cot on the right, brushing her hands down her thighs.

Nick looked over to her when he heard the coil springs shift-squeaking. He stepped toward her. "No, you can have that one," He pointed towards his bed on the left. He wasn't quite sure why it was a problem. He just knew the thought of her on Troy's bed turned his stomach.

"You can hang out here, or go explore. I have a few things to handle. You know where I'll end up," Nick started, turning towards the door. "If I'm not here, I'm with El Matarife." Nick said and closed the door behind hi as Lucianna stood from Troy's bed.

He stepped into the hallway and dug back into the bag. After prodding for a few moments he pulled out a starch white piece of paper with blue marker lines dissecting each other on it.

He turned the paper landscape. Troy must have found it under the door this morning and included it in his morning preparation, when he decided to pack Nick's bag.

Turning the paper sideways, he could make out different, spread-out squares. A blue, circled 'x' lay in the middle of one of the blocks, slightly more rectangular and set a little right of the middle of the drawing. 'Serena' was scrawled in cursive next to the 'x'.

Nick blinked again and it clicked. A map. Strand had drew him a map of the vendors. Now Nick could find out just how much of Troy's lessons had stuck.

He made his way to the center of the plaza. After flipping the page a few times, he finally was able to line up the front entrance to the first three vendor stands. From there, he followed the white paths in between the blue boxes.

He made a right at the next intersecting footpaths and turned upwards. He had placed himself in front the the box marked with the 'x'. Nick pulled the map down from his face and he found himself standing in a familiar spot.

There was a small, wooden desk, a dark blue tarp strapped above it as an awning. There was a long, rectangular concrete building in front of him.

Sitting at the desk was the same woman from the day before, the 'woman with the wares' Nick remembered, smiling slightly.

He sandy-brown hair flowed over her shoulders and the breeze that dare got trapped in the bustling mini-city.

His smile widened as he took the last few steps up to the desk.

She returned his smile, looking at him pleasantly.

"Serena?" Nick asked. Her eyebrow shot up. "Victor Strand sent me."

The pleasant look disappeared from her face.


	31. Discovery

Troy didn't speak as Madison exited the vehicle. Instead, he walked to the back of the ATV and grabbed the tool bag, then he began descending the small slope towards the fence.

Madison followed closely behind. He could hear her boots in the dry dirt behind him.

"You're right about one thing," Troy began, kneeling down at the base of the fence. "It's anchored to something."

Madison crossed her arms over her chest and stood looking at the boy.

Troy idly grabbed at one of the posts' base, seeing if it had any give with him trying to shake it. Nothing. It was bolted to something in the ground.

Troy unzipped the tool bag next to him, rifling through its contents. He sighed. "Do you know where I can get more sockets?" He voiced to Madison, throwing a look over his shoulder to her. "I've got a few in here, but it's looks like I'll need a 9mm for these bolts," He continued, rubbing his index finger on the small, hexagon-shaped head of one the many bolts.

Madison pushed her hair out of her face. The wind continued to carry it, though. "You can check with Amelia, in the shop. She does all the work on the vehicles. She should have what you're looking for."

Troy stood, nodding. He could see the large, shiny, mass of the shop building from where the Gator was parked.

"Just take the side-by-side," Madison continued, "I'll wait here."

Troy nodded again, grabbing the tool bag they had brought with them. He tossed it into the back of the ATV and slid into the driver's seat.

He started the engine and pulled away, watching Madison watching him.

After a few minutes of the up-and-down of small slopes, he pulled the Gator on the concrete pad outside of the shop. He cut the engine and hopped from the ATV.

The bay door was open, and Troy blinked at the small change of light.

"Amelia?" Troy voiced into the large shop.

After a few seconds, Troy heard the sound of plastic wheels on concrete.

A girl with long, brown hair much like Alicia's, slid out from under a lifted Yukon. She had on light, oil stained, beige overalls slung loosely over her shoulders. She produced a rag from one of the large pockets and rubbed her hands into it, pulling herself up from the creeper.

"How can I help you?" She asked, disinterested as he made her way to the taller man.

He had to look down on her, as she approached. He had at least a head and a half, two heads on her.

"Madison said you may have some tools I can borrow?" Troy started.

"What do you need?" She asked, turning and stuffing the oil rag back into her pocket. She walked towards the back wall of the shop, which was lined with Craftsman toolboxes.

"A rachet set that matches up," he laughed. "One that has 9mm socket, and probably a 12 and 10 as well."

She nodded not looking at him and opened a set of doors on a large, red, toolbox. She pulled out a small, black case and tossed it over at Troy.

He caught it instinctively then popped the snaps open, revealing a Stanley rachet set and a full three rows of sockets.

"Much obliged," Troy said, turning towards the bay door he had entered through. "When do you need them back by?"

"I'll find them when I need them," she said dismissively, setting herself back on the mechanic roller creeper and sliding back under the Yukon.

Troy made his leave, setting the black rachet case on the seat beside him as he pulled away from the shop.

He pulled back up on the small hill in front of the fence. Madison stood, arms crossed, looking out towards the ridges to the east.

Troy grabbed at the case and descended the slop towards her.

"Find what you were looking for?" Madison asked, still looking out towards the ridges.

He nodded in response, not caring if she saw or not. Troy knelt back down at the base of the fence. He produced the rachet and a socket from the base and began loosening on of the bolts. After he had removed the four that circled the base of the post, he started jiggling the beam.

It was much more moveable now, but as Troy pulled the beam to the side he noticed wires running down and into the metal perimeter. He furrowed his brows and stood.

"What's wrong?" Madison asked, making her way to the boy.

"I'm not sure," he answered honestly. "There's lines ran through here for somethin'." Troy rubbed at the scruff of his chin then ran his eyes up the length of the post. "Let's see," he began, talking more to himself than anyone.

Madison stood beside him, hands on her sides.

Troy slid the ratchet into the side pocket of his black cargo pants. He looked up either side of the beam and used the horizontal slits in the fencing to propel himself upward, climbing the post. When he reached the top, he noticed a small black, glass-like square set atop the beam. He used his right hand to anchor him to the fence and used his free hand to wriggle the square from the top.

It popped from place and Troy lifted it slightly. Four colorful wires connected to the back of the plate he removed and ran down the post. Connected to what? Troy set the square back and descended a few feet before dropping from the fence.

Madison eyed him, but he didn't give her a chance to ask. He walked down the fence line and to the next cross-beam. He scaled upwards easily and when he reached the top, another black, glass-like square met him, perched flat against the post and flat to the skies.

He brought himself back down the fence and back to Madison.

"There's solar panels lining the fence," Troy observed, looking down the perimeter. "But what are they for?"

Madison didn't answer him, just formulated her own question. "That's what Nick went to get. If we can use these, do we even need those now?"

"I think the better question is, why are they here in the first place," Troy stated, turning back and looking through the outlying fields, leading to the corral, then over past that to the gallery and the rolling hills of the orchard. "What do they run?"


	32. Wonder

Nick observed the slightly older woman in front of him.

"I been expectin' anyhow," she said and stood, waving Nick in behind her as she turned into the dark doorway of the kitchen.

She led him through the rows of cook stations and turned to open a small wooden door.

From what Nick could see of the small area, thanks to dim light shooting through a narrow window, it seemed like a little office.

Serena rounded the desk and pulled open a drawer, laying a thick folder on the desk.

Emblazened along the manila cover read 'BS-N14-ScottFarms'.

She handed him the folder and Nick tucked it under his arm.

"So, he said you were extended family," Nick prodded, cutting his eyes up at the woman.

"Ha!" She let out a short, hard laugh. Nick raised his brow. Serena continued. "Somewhere, someway, everyone is. But, no. Thomas was my cousin." She dipped her eyes low for a moment then looked back at him. "Our fathers were brothers."

Nick eyed her, "So you're.."

"An Abigail, yes," she relented, setting her hands on her hips.

"I'm sorry about Thomas," Nick concluded. "Didn't really get to know him, though."

Serena nodded at him. "Tell Victor that if I get anythin' else, it'll come his way," she said, walking past Nick out of the door.

He nodded at her as he made his own exit; she had went right back to her post, at the wooden desk under the blue awning.

Nick remembered the thick file she had given him, and he untucked from its place on his side.

It was at least and inch thick, if not more. He wondered about the contents, but he did not open it. It was for Strand.

He meandered through the crowd, back to his room. Lucianna must have went out and about like he'd offered her. It was only him in the empty space.

He plopped onto the first armchair, setting the folder down on the table in front of him.

He wondered what was happening at the Orchard. He wondered what Troy might be doing right now, as he lit a cigarette.

The door behind him opened, and Nick half-expected Troy to walk around the chair and collapse into the other one. But, it wasn't and Lucianna slid into the chair across from him.

"What's this," she queried, gesturing towards the file on the table.

"Coupons," Nick retorted sarcastically.

She raised her lip at him.

He sat forward, taking a drag from his cigarette. "If you were an assassin for hire," he started, leveling his index and middle finger at her like a makeshift gun. "Paid by the body," Nick continued, "Bang," he said, dropping his hand. "Would you ask your boss who your target was, what he did?"

Lucianna eyed him curiously, confused by him.

Nick rolled his eyes, "No, you'd just do what you were told. You don't ask questions, you just finish the objective. Return and repeat. That's all I'm sayin'," he finished, hitting his cigarette again.

Lucianna's brows stayed furrowed, but she prodded no further.

"It's Strand's," he relented anyway, sitting back into his chair and Lucianna nodded back. "You hungry?" Nick asked because he found his stomach growling awkwardly. He really should have finished that protein bar from this morning.

Lucianna still didn't speak, just nodded for a second time, still confused, but slightly intrigued at what the folder might hold.

"Come on," Nick said, standing and jerking his chin towards the door. He fiddled with the paper clips around his wrist, feeling for the dangling keys. Once he was sure he had them, he ushered Lucianna out of the door and clipped the lock in place on the outside.

Nick led her through the Bazaar, to the entrance and he stopped short on their side of the cage. "What have we got on the books?" He questioned to the man in the toll cage.

The man pulled a large green binder from below his counter and flipped through it, dragging his finger down gridded aisles. "After the deposit made yesterday, you're sitting at two hundred and thirty credits."

Nick nodded at the man and spoke again. "I'll take a hundred out. We'll be here a few days," he stated, still not enjoying the idea.

The man in the cage ducked down again, retrieving two different rings of credits and handed them to Nick.

"Gracias," Nick said to the man as he turned and led Lucianna back into the crowded Bazaar. He measled around a few vendors before trading five credits for a plate of quesadillas and two bottles of water. He led Lucianna to a table and sat the tray down, rolling one of the water bottles onto the table beside it.

Lucianna pulled a plastic chair out and sat, looking up at Nick.

He didn't retrieve his own chair, instead, he rubbed on his chin slightly and looked away. "I'm gonna go check in with El Matarife, then head to the room," he said, looking back towards the table at her.

"You're not going to eat?" She asked, eyeing him.

He brushed it off, shaking his head, "Nah, I'm good," Nick said, walking towards the bar. He wasn't hungry anymore. He wasn't tired. Just restless, it seemed.

Nick made his way down the concrete corridor behind the bar. Again he thought what Troy might be up to on the farm. Was he actually giving those people tips on self-sustainability? Or was he spying on his mother? Nick's stomach twisted for a long moment. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. It still sickened him to think about the dam.

Another pang of guilt hit him. Nick couldn't believe he had agreed for Troy to stay there, with her, without him, hell, urged him to. And now they were going to be stuck here a few more days. He honestly wished he'd had a cheap, dollar-store cell. That it actually worked and he'd be able to call and cut through the miles. Check in on him. Hear him. Nick shook his head again as he crossed through the arched doorway into the bar.

A half dozen people lounged throughout the dim, inner section of the room.

El Matarife stood leaned against the counter behind the bar, scanning his eyes at a few patrons to the left of him.

Nick crossed the room and slid onto the worn, familiar barstool across from the man, setting his unopened water on the bar.

"So, who is she to you?" The older man spoke down to him.

Nick raised his brow, earnestly surprised. "Huh?"

"The girl, you're uncomfortable around her," El Matarife prodded.

"It's nothing, man. She was from the Colonia," Nick noted.

"You reek of something." El Matarife admitted.

Nick looked up, meeting his eyes. Why did he want to filet this out? "She and a few others found me after I had a run in with some dogs," Nick laughed out. "Lucianna, she, she acted like she didn't speak English. That's one way to avoid conversation." He laughed again.

"Lucianna," El Matarife repeated the boy, nodding. "Ah."

"What?" Nick prodded, slightly confused. He leaned forward onto the bar.

"I understand now, who she is to you," the older man acknowledged.

Nick shook his head, "We haven't covered that in our expansive back story conversations," he said sarcastically.

"No, you haven't divulged that," the older man replied, shortly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Nick asked, his tone slightly cocky.

"Where do you think Troy is? When he's not out with you, head-hunting, huh?"

Nick rolled his eyes. Even gossip survived the end of the world.

"What did he say? About her?"

El Matarife chuckled. "What should he have said? It isn't like he's not biased on the matter, mijo."

Nick shook his head, standing from the bar stool. He wondered what Troy had said, why he had even brought Lucianna up. "I'll see you tomorrow," he nodded as he exited the room.

The sun had already began to set when he had gotten Lucianna dinner. And now, the dim orange glow, residing behind the horizon allowed Nick to stare at his slanted shadow as the rest of his surroundings darkened to match it.

Nick made it to his door and unlatched his keychain bracelet, unlocking the room.

He left the door open and crossed the space, clicking on the light in between the cots.

Slinking out of his jacket and sliding off his boots, Nick laid backwards on his cot. He turned his head, looking to Troy's empty bed.

The scuffle of dirt across the room caused him to lean up.

Lucianna crossed the threshold and sat her water bottle down on the dresser. Nick stood from the bed and crossed to the end of Troy's. He opened the trunk below him and pulled a fresh bottle out, twisting the cap and taking a long pull. He'd left so quickly, as to avoid further conversation on the topic, he'd left the one he had bought.

"You can still take my bed," Nick said over his shoulder, sitting down on the edge of the other cot.

"I think I'm going to go shower, first," Lucianna noted, "The casa de banos?" Nick looked at her, confusion apparent on his face. "The bath house?"

"Oh, the green concrete building. Right behind the guy with the chickens," he advised her, pointing diagonally through the wall to his right.

She nodded at him and grabbed one of her bags from the floor, watching the ground as she walked out.

Nick leaned back into the cot, idly playing with the paper clips at his wrist. He was anxious. He was tired. He was wide awake. Restless and a million other things. Couldn't shut his mind off. Worrying about Troy at the Orchard. Playing through random, innane scenarios developed in an alternate time. If he were back in Los Angeles. Before the world went to shit. If he had met Troy before. Whether or not Troy would like that one restraunt, right outside El Soreno. The little brick cul de sac with the Chicago-style pizza. If Troy would have even associated with him then. Who he was.

Nick rolled over, fidgeting with the metal clips. He couldn't turn it off. A steady faucet of what ifs and whys. Things that didn't matter. At least not anymore. Not in the new world.

Coffee shops and rehabs, countless intervention based family nights. Dysfunctional as always. But, he still found himself creating storylines in his head. How things would have been different. Nick was sure that, if at any moment, he was plucked from this spot, this time, and placed back before, he knew what he would do first.

If he knew then, everything he knew now, he'd go south. Straight down to the border. He'd follow it along, east, until he found himself in the basin of Broke Jaw Ranch.

He'd find Troy and then the rest wouldn't matter. If the apocalypse still happened, it wouldn't matter. Come what may, he'd make the best of whatever he could with what they were given. He wondered if Troy would still develop whatever feelings he had for him now, in the before. Or if they'd just traipse the world together, sworn allies and best friends. And honestly, neither sounded worse. He realized he would take Troy however he could get him. It was just a...a need for him.

This thought allowed a sharper pang of guilt to course through his core. After what he had done to try to avoid this, the past, his mother, and he'd just walked away this morning. Allowed Troy to stay behind, no guarantee of the outcome.

He stopped fidgeting with the clips when he felt the sharp sting of them on his wrist. The Clark boy had twisted it too tight.

He dropped his fingers from the clips and turned on his side. Nick heard a slight, plastic crunching as he shifted on the bed. He leaned onto his back and dug his hands into the right pocket of his jeans, pulling out the baggie of pills.

He smiled as he turned the little sack around in his fingers. Nick dug two out and popped them into his mouth, reaching for his water bottle.

He drank them down and dropped the bottle to the floor, rolling back up and staring at the concrete ceiling.

Nick laid there, mind subconciously finding faces in the bumpy texture. He felt the mellow brain fog begin to creep in between his temples and he smiled softly again, sighing. He couldn't turn his brain off, but he could chill it out some.

He laid his hands behind his head, looking up, disassembling patterns in the concrete. He was no longer restless, just, resting. Calm and content he closed his eyes, formulating the sounds of the waves lapping at the sides of the Abigail at sea. Colors formed behind his eyelids and he blurred and mixed them, creating soft, gaseous, play-doh clouds. He lay there, serene, relaxed. But, he did not sleep. He wondered if Troy had.


	33. Stratosphere

Troy and Madison made their way back to the main building, the Gator rolling up and down through the outlying fields. Troy drove this time.

He rounded the back of the closest building, pulling the side-by-side to a stop in front of the makeshift mayor's home. He chuckled to himself, sliding off the bucket seat and entering the building, ascending towards the dome.

Madison followed behind him, the tool bag forgotten in the ATV, as she carried the large binder clip board.

Troy opened the hatch and immediately crossed the room to the dark oak desk. "Is there any schematics for the fence? Layout for the farm? Maybe a construction log?" He voiced to Madison, sliding papers over each other on the desk and pulling a drawer out.

She shook her head, though he wasn't looking. "Not that I've seen, but I haven't really focused on that," Madison admitted, setting the clip board on the corner of the desk. Troy had taken a few more measurements at the fence and had them scribbled lazily across the page that was cinched to the front of it.

"What about the other rooms here? The other buildings?" Troy questioned, starting towards the hatch down.

Madison shook her head again, in reply, crossing her arms. "I don't know about in this building, but not the other ones. The one closest to the gallery and the trees is where we take care of the fruit and food. And it has a bunk area. The building towards the east is for the livestock. It's got stables and pens."

Troy nodded, leaning of the desk. He was very intrigued at their findings. And he was eager to delve into its mystery more, if he could. It would keep his mind busy; allow him to pass the time until Nick's return. Troy crossed his arms across the small of his back, stepping behind the desk. "So where'd you find all of the people?" He asked, looking down from the south side of the dome, towards the corral and the other two, blue, metal-sided buildings.

"Just kind of merged," Madison relented, studying through the glass panes from the other side of the desk. "After Victor pointed us in this direction, we met some people when we left. A few on the way. All different people. Diverse backgrounds. From all different places," she said, leveling her gaze on Troy. "I wasn't too sure you'd be comfortable here, at first." Troy arched his brow at her, turning from the glass panes overlooking the little village. She continued, "Figured you'd be a bit...biased." Madison paused, "Of the variety," she said, thinking of the diversity of the characters that inhabited the large farm.

Troy let out a short laugh. "Big Otto was uncultured swine. I've come to realize that. And I think that part, the shaded, conditioned, raised to separate and judge part of me...I think- I think that it might have died with him." Troy looked down, unsure of the spout of admissions. "Like I'd been standing under an umbrella in a monsoon, and the wind swept it away and now I can actually feel the rain..." Madison nodded at him, but Troy found he still wasn't finished. "I honestly believe that view, that bigotry, hypocrisy, fell away with him. Not that I'm using him as a scapegoat.

"Blaming him for who I am. Only partially. And to be honest, America wouldn't have been where it was without immigration," Troy continued. He rounded the desk and leaned on the edge of it. "Elon Musk? He emmigrated from South Africa originally, moved in on a student visa through Canada. He went to school at UPENN. Then he founded Tesla. Co-founded SpaceX. Since 2000, about forty percent of all Nobel prize winners were born outside of the U.S. Which really doesn't matter anymore." Madison eyed him thoughtfully, and it caused Troy to flash a small smile. It reminded him of Nick's odd intrigue whenever Troy spouted off random, now-inane bits of information.

Troy scratched his upper arm, letting his hand slide down and catch his elbow. "But that wasn't easy to see, or accept, growing up under him. And its not an excuse. But, looking back, I do find it a big part of the way I viewed the world. It's like he would snap a picture then airbrush it how he wanted Jake and I to view it. Jake wasn't as influenceable." Troy looked down suddenly, thinking back to the day on the ridge, overlooking his horde with Nick and his brother. He realized he hadn't thought of Jake in a long while, and it twinged at him. That was guilt. That was progress.

Madison noticed the glint of it in his down turned eyes. She decided to attempt to turn the situation away from that. "Well, you're not an astronaut," she began, smiling slightly. "So, I take it you heard about Musk because you like fast cars?"

Troy laughed it off, "I like Fords." He looked back down before meeting her eyes again. "It was such a different time, though...before. Clocks and cars and strip malls. Then civilization fell and when it did it sunk, just like that," he snapped his fingers. "But we're stuck behind. And you either roll with it or check out." He laughed again. "This world becomes us," he said remembering Strand from before, in this same glass dome. Madison crossed her arms thoughfully, leaning back onto the arm of one of the beige chairs.

"We've all been through shit, done a lot of shit. And we're still here, having to. Like a churning," Troy said, sliding his hands in to his pocket as he perched back against the corner of the desk. "We're all stuck in the same revolving mess of problems. And we're left with tough choices."

"Road to hell is paved with good intentions," Madison offered from the armchair.

"Doesn't excuse anything, though. Earnest solution. Terrible execution," Troy said, pausing and crossing his legs and the ankles, leaning back onto the desk more. "Ever seen the movie 'The Rock'? Cage and Connery. They are trying to stop this ex-military guy. This soldier is gonna gas this city unless the government pays restitution to the families of the fallen." He pauses again looking at Madison who watched him with intrigue. "KIAs, the ones in unmarked graves on foreign soil. Forgotten soldiers. But, didn't you say the ends justify the means?" He smirked at her.

"No one leaves this world clean, Troy. Not anymore. Not even before, really," she admitted, surprising him. "But people have to evolve." She stood and set a hand on his shoulder. "And some evolved even before the world ended."

Troy looked up a few inches at her, from his seat on the desk. Madison squeezed his shoulder slightly. "It's the right call," she finished, walking towards and down the small, steep stairs at the hatch.

Troy didn't answer her on her exit, just crossed his arms and looked upwards, towards the circular center of the glass above the center of the room. Out into the low clouds plastered throughout the stratosphere. An endless blanket over everything. The sky. He thought about Nick, miles away, milling about the Bazarr. And he smiled. The stratosphere.

An envelope surrounding everyone and everything at all times. A kind of closure and boundary that sectioned off his world, but still an openness. It still connected them in a way. They were under the same sky.

An envelope surrounding everyone and everything at all times. A kind of closure and boundary that sectioned off his world, but still an openness. It still connected them in a way. They were under the same sky.

Troy smiled again and stood, rounding the desk. He sat in the roller chair behind it and pulled open another drawer, sifting through papers, eagerly.

He wanted to find out more about whatever this solar grid lining the fence was. Needed to.


	34. Fountain

Nick laid on the cot on his back, his feet crossed and hands resting over his chest. His eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply through his nose. He knew he hadn't slept. But, he didn't feel tired. Instead, he just felt restless again.

Then came the shift, it was minimal at first, a slight discoloration of the darkness of his eyelids. He knew now that the sun was finally up, which is what he had been waiting for. He popped his eyes open and sat up quickly. Nick expected a whoosh of lightheaded-ness to sweep over him at the fast-paced movement, but it didn't.

He looked over to his cot that sat across from him. Lucianna lay sleeping, facing the outside of the bed. She was on her left side and her legs were drawn up against herself.

Nick stood, stepping easily over to his boots. He didn't want to wake her. Not because she was sleeping but because he didn't really want to conversate with her at the moment.

He slipped his boots on quietly, navigating through the dimly lit room. The narrow windows on either side allowed the early morning light to filter in, dust motes floating about in the rays. Nick crossed to the door and opened it inaudibly, slipping through and pulling it closed behind him.

He made his way towards the bar in search of work. Anything. He was restless. He was fidgety. He felt like something was missing and he needed to fill the space. He sighed as he walked, shoving his hands into his pockets. Something was missing. Rather, someone.

He finally moseyed his way down the last corridor and through the arched concrete doorway into the barroom.

There was not a patron in sight. Neither was El Matarife. It really must be early.

Barring this, Nick still slid onto the same dented, worn stool and perched his elbows onto the counter. He fiddled with his fingers for a moment, then spent a few more twisting Troy's paperclips on his wrist. Two more days, he reminded himself. Just two more days and they would head back to the Orchard and he and Troy could race back here, to their home. The thought made him smile.

The Clark boy was unable to sit still, though, and he began tapping his fingers on the countertop. He pulled at his lip with his teeth, then made clicking sounds with his tongue. Restless. Nick started rapping his knuckles onto the bar in a makeshift beat.

He wasn't sure how much time had past before El Matarife appeared in the doorway.

The older man grunted his arrival and crossed the den-like middle of the room, unlatching and sliding a few metal gates that closed the public entryways into the bar.

"You could have at least made yourself useful, mijo," El Matarife began, "And opened the bar."

Nick pursed his lips but the older man ignored it.

"Why did you get up so early?" El Matarife prodded, making his way behind the bar.

"I didn't," Nick answered honestly, looking down at and continuing to tap lightly on the surface of the counter in front of him.

"Bah. You're predictable, Nick. But, you still need sleep. Though, I did figure these next few days you would be 'off'. Te both of you."

Nick turned his eyes up to the man across the bar. "You're probably right," the boy conceded. "But you make it sound gooey. It's not gooey."

El Matarife laughed. He leaned down and produced a bottle of water, sliding it across the bar at Nick. He then turned around and pulled a drawer from the counter behind him, retrieving a sleeve of crackers enclosed in a brown, translucent plastic.

Nick tightened his lips in defeat, but took the water and crackers anyway. He knew there was no point in arguing. "I'll take it to go," he said at the man, standing from the barstool.

El Matarife nodded at him as Nick crossed the room to a small alcove. He pulled out his grocery buggy. Inside was a blood-laden machete, which he used in his work. The cart was also covered in dried blood and bits of flesh, from the severed heads he toted around.

"Be careful," El Matarife called at his exiting figure.

Nick turned his head and beamed a smile, "Never."

The old hand waved a dismissive hand at him and laughed.

Nick made his way through the corridors, pushing his cart through the dust. Meandering between vendors in the plaza, he came to the front gate and half-saluted at the man in the toll cage as he crossed through.

The wheels on the buggy found purchase on the asphalt in a loud and shaky way. He felt the vibrations through the plastic handle. But, he was used to this. He walked until he found himself a few blocks away from the parking lot of the Bazaar, and stopped at the first rotter he came across.

Nick slid the machete from the inside, and used the cart as a sort of battering ram. He pulled it back towards him a bit then sent it flying into the roaming dead on the side of the street in front of him. It knocked the dead's already precarious equilibrium off-balance and the rotter fell to the ground.

He ascended on it quickly. It was much too deteriorated for him to even think of harvesting its head, but he had other plans for it.

In one swift movement, he deftly buried the machete sideways into the rotter's forehead, setting a boot on it's face as he yanked the blade out of it's skull. Dark, gritty brain matter slipped out slowly from the gash in its head.

Nick kneeled next to the body that had finally gone still, forever. He placed the machete on the middle of it's torso and prepared himself for the smell of rotting blood. He had become accustomed to it, after so long, but still, the initial wave was always bad.

Nick dropped the machete down next to the body and began coating himself in his bloody makeup. It had become a ritual for him, to dress up, to walk among them.

After he finished lathering hair, skin and shirt, he grabbed the machete and tossed it back into the cart, standing and continuing on his way.

The first few dead he came across, he ignored. They were too far gone. Too decayed to be usable in the way El Matarife planned.

He thought back to their first night at the Bazaar, when they had taken this rotter drug together, from shot glasses. He remembered the floating, flying, rushy feeling it gave him. Like he was on a never-ending bungee-jump. Shooting high, then falling fast only to be pulled back up, up, up. Always up. Always somewhere further to take it. It was a rush. That was true. But, the rest was hazy.

He remembered the excitement, the literal adrenaline. It was the paranoia that was foggy. The deep, uncontrollable fear the he felt. Nick took a deep breath. It was the thought of his mother. That's what sent him spiralling from his high that night.

It seemed like ages ago, but he couldn't help but feel resentment towards himself because of how the last few days had panned out. He'd just let her back in. He was disgusted with himself.

He continued to walk, shaking his head at his own thoughts. He was so naive. But wasn't that the first step? Admitting you had a problem? A line he had heard numerous times in his life. This caused him to laugh loudly.

Nick's eyes widened and his bloody hand came up to cover his mouth as he chuckled more.

Although he had his bloody camoflauge on, the sound of his buggy on the street was louder than he'd like, anyhow. Attention was not what he wanted.

By the time the sun had reached the middle of the sky, Nick had four, reasonably fresh, only slightly deteriorated heads lolling around in his cart. They rolled and bumped back and forth into each other like a pinball machine. He chuckled at this under his breath.

Nick reached a slight decline in the road and he scanned the area around him.

A few abandoned cars sat, parallel parked from a time before. Trash lay strewn about the street and sidewalks. But, he saw no dead.

Nick decided to ride the slope down. He stepped his left foot onto the base of the shopping cart and used his other to push off, descending down the dip in the street.

After about a block he stepped off, taking a few fast steps as he slowed the cart down. He looked down the road to his left, and a familiar pull caused him to turn.

Nick found himself at the gate of a park. One he'd been to before. He carelessly pushed the cart into the metal fence and it clanged and rolled back a few inches, but otherwise became parked there.

Walking through the gate, he followed the grey, cracked sidewalk. Tall grass flowed in the hot breeze on either side of him and he heard the clicky, barely there sound of crickets hiding amongst the blades.

Nick walked until he found himself at the base of the concrete fountain. He kicked at it with his boot and smiled. It was just a few nights ago that he sat right here, in a daze, and Troy had kissed him. Passionately, quickly, and unexpectedly. He wished now that he wasn't high that night. And then he could have enjoyed it as much as he did thinking about it the morning after.

He scaled the three foot side of the fountain. The basin which used to house water was now home to a few old pieces of newspaper, scattered leaves and dry dust. The inside was not as deep as he'd expected and he sat down on the curved side, leaning his head back against the frame of the fountain.

Looking up through the breaks in the canopy, the sunlight found his face and all the sudden he felt tired. The hours he lay awake were catching up to him.

Before Nick knew it, his eyes were slipping closed, feeling the breeze and sun on his face, and reminiscing to just a couple nights before.

It was mid afternoon before he woke up, rolling his neck side to side. It ached from the angle he had slept at.

Nick blinked himself fully awake, sat up and yawned. He felt his skin stretch and crack with the now-dry rotter blood. He knew he only fell asleep because it'd been over a day since he had actually slept. And because of the events here in the past few days, he had actually felt comfortable enough to sleep.

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. Everything must have a balance. He got some sleep, but his neck hurt like hell. Nick hopped over the side of the fountain and started towards the entry, looking back at the concrete base one more time before turning fully away, smiling.

At the exit, he swung his shopping cart around and headed up the street, back in the direction of the Bazaar.


	35. Scott Farms

Alicia snuck through the trees of the Orchard, ducking low and making every attempt at silence.

She back against a tree, crouching low. The wind trapped in the trees blew her long hair this way and that. Reaching up, Alicia tucked her hair behind and over her right shoulder, leaning into the tree. She quieted her breath and inched her head forward, trying to gain sight around the tree.

A hard projectile hit her from behind and she arched her back inwards. "Ah!" She exclaimed, turning around. A lone green apple rolled at her feet. She dipped back against the tree as Amelia stuck her head out from behind one a few rows over, throwing another apple in her direction.

Alicia laughed, a bright, broad smile growing on her face. "Okay! Apples are too hard!" She called to Amelia.

Amelia leaned out from behind the tree and grinned back, walking towards Alicia, both enjoying each other's smiles.

"Peaches, then?" Amelia countered, continuing to close the distance between them. "Or truce?"

Alicia shook her head, still beaming. "As if!" She bent down quickly, retrieving the apple that had hit her in the back. She chunked it at the other girl and laughed loudly before retreating behind the tree and around it.

They were deep in the Orchard. The girls didn't have a run to the salvage yard to make, so Madison thought it fitting they worked here for the day. But no work was done.

They just continued to chase each other through the rows of trees.

Amelia rounded the tree Alicia had just disappeared behind. Leaves, grass and more trees met her on the other side. Her brows furrowed before hands reached up behind her, covering them and her eyes.

Amelia laughed and leaned back into Alicia, who slid her hands down until the met the other girls, fingers intertwining.

"So, what do you want to do now?" Alicia asked down to the other girl.

Amelia didn't reply at first, just enjoyed the closeness before pulling herself away, pulling her lips to the side in an unsure face. "I should probably get back to the shop, keep working on the brush guard. And I need to find that guy and get my tools back."

Alicia sighed deeply, crossing her arms. "We need more time."

Amelia agreed accordingly, stepping forward, nodding, and bring a hand up to brush stray hair from Alicia's face. "I know, and we will," she assured, rubbing a thumb along the other girl's cheek. Alicia leaned into her hand and nodded.

Amelia made her way around Alicia, and the Clark girl watched her go, walking up the main path out of the orchard, her long dark hair billowing in the breeze.

Alicia and Amelia had hit it off immediately after meeting. One reason was because there weren't really other girls around her age around here, much. But, meeting someone you actually enjoyed being around was rare. Alicia wasn't really sure when it developed, changed into something more, but she didn't question it. It just felt good, the company, the banter. She enjoyed Amelia's presence. And it was reciprocated.

As Amelia disappeared from view, Alicia turned back to the trees. She began walking through the rows, innately wondering exactly where they had thrown down the milk crates they were supposed to be collecting apples in.

Alicia enjoyed the Orchard as well. The smells, the leaves, sound of wind through through the trees. It was natural, it was unchanged from the terror the world had been thrown into. And she sometimes wished she could just turn into a tree. A large, towering tree with a canopy of leaves. Just to sit, anchored someplace. Shading things, covering them. Swaying in the breeze. Not a care in the world but to just be. Unaffected by the apocalypse, the dead, the living. A tree didn't have to worry about food, scavenging, fighting to stay alive. A tree would not be moved.

Alicia headed through the rows. She caught a glimpse of blue through the next patch of trees and she walked towards the crate. Her light boots drug through the layers of leaves making up the floor of the Orchard, years of blooming and shedding.

She was a few feet away from the crate when her boot snagged something hard and stuck in place and she tripped, falling forward into the leaves.

When she pulled herself upright, she turned back to the culprit.

Moving leaves this way and that, she uncovered a thick metal handle attached to what seemed to be a door. A hatch of sorts. It had a slightly rusted circular handle in the center.

On hands and knees she crawled towards it more, until she was perched over the top.

Curiosity got the best of the and she attempted to turn the dial-knob counter-clockwise. It didn't budge. Must be the rust, she thought to herself.

Alicia leaned back and used the heel of her boot to kick at the turn-dial. A few good kicks and she sat forward again.

It seemed to have done the trick and she began twisting the handle to the left. The first turns were hard as hail, but after that, the lock slipped easily. She pulled her hands back and wiped the orange rust dust from her hands.

Alicia grabbed hold of the iron handle she had initially tripped over and gave a heavy pull, leaning with her body weight. Which wasn't much, but it was enough, and the hatch opened with a puff, sending her backwards at the release.

She stood and lifted the heavy hatch wide. There was a musty, wet concrete smell from inside, but this concerned her not and she stuck her head inside the darkness regardless.

From what she could see, in the sudden light change from the bright of the Orchard to the dark, unknown of below, it was a hallway of sorts.

A semi-dark concrete corridor, with pipes lining one side and small, rectangular, yellow lights around the base of the hall. The concrete was damp, but what concerned her more were the lights.

Alicia quickly leaned up and scanned the area around her to see if anyone else happened to be present for her discovery.

No beings greeted her as she looked around, save for the wind and the sway of the trees.

She took a deep breath and leaned her legs into the hole, swinging them around until they found purchase on the iron rungs leading down into the depths.

When she reached the bottom, she wiped her hands on her shirt, taking in her surroundings.

The corridor was dimly lit. The square light that spilled in from the hatch lit up where she stood, but down the corridor, the yellow glow illuminated the walkway and she took another deep breath before following them.

When she reached the end of the hall, there was another door. It was large, stark white in the yellow-base lights. It was slightly bubbled and had another dial-style lock in the middle. Like a vault door, or on a ship. Or a bunker. There was a wheel lock in place, twisting through one of the openings in the circle hand and tightened against a metal outcropping on the door, so that the dial couldn't be turned.

Alicia untwisted the wheel lock and shifted it from its position, dropping it and wincing as it clanged against the concrete floor. Before continuing, the girl leaned down and retrieved her trusty butterfly knife from her boot.

Standing back straight before the door, she turned the dial three good times to the left and the door clicked open. Another whoosh of air met her, like the hatch above had. But it didn't smell musty like before. It smelt clean, sterile. She pulled the heavy door outwards.

Dim light met her on the other side, like the lights in the corridor, but when she stepped inside a slight hum sounded, lights clicked on to illuminate the room. A small whirring could be heard within the hum.

The room was as stark white as the door. Large, white squares making up the floor, they had a dim light coming from them. Off-white walls. There were a few glass shelves towering from floor to ceiling. On the shelves were a variety of certificates. She inched closer. Medical proficiencies, certifications, awards. All made out to Miranda Scott. Scott.

The name caught in her mind. It was the name emblazened across the Orchard. Scott Farms. It annointed every label on the fruit jars and cans. Decals on the sides of the farm vehicles.

What was this place?

Alicia ran her fingers along the shelves, slipping them across hand-sized paperweights made of glass. The kind with small bubbles creating a scene inside. She stepped away from the shelf and took in the rest of the room.

There was a rounded door across the room and the opposite held another two doorways. There was a small, creme colored sectional sitting across from a large black screen. The room had a drop down about a foot, a lower level which housed the furniture and the other two doors.

Alicia crossed to the couch, running her hand along the back of it. Who would pay money for white furniture? Just for it to get stained and ruined?

A small black bag laid on the opposite end of the couch, on the arm. She crossed the floor to it. A bag of barbeque Lays. She let out a laugh. Nick's favorite. Her second favorite, right after sour cream and onion. And Funyons. And dill. Maybe she just liked chips.

They were half-gone. And she wondered how hard they would be, after so many months. She smiled, reaching her hand into the bag. Even if they were old, she could still brag to her brother when he got back that she'd had some. The one's he liked the best. And that she didn't save him any.

She popped the chip into her mouth. If it were too hard, she'd probably spit it back out, right onto this perfect white couch. But, at least she could have the taste again.

What surprised her was that it was not stale. At all. She picked the bag up and examined it, turning it around in her hands while finishing chewing the chip. It took her a moment, but then it hit her. They were fresh. They were recent. Someone else was here with her.

Alicia shot her head up, surveying the room and dropping the chips loudly onto the white floor.

She quickly retrieved her knife, which she had subconsciously shoved back into her boot, flipping it open in one, quick movement. She backed away from the couch and her heel knocked into the step-up in the floor. Turning and looking behind her, she stepped backwards onto the raised part of the room.

The door closest to the end of the sectional opened. But she didn't notice.

She turned around, looking back to the lower area of the room. Someone charged out of the room, stopping at the bag of chips in front of the step and Alicia took a step back, towards the entrance. The exit.

A boy, around her age, perhaps a few years older stood in front of her. He had a messy bun knotted atop his chestnut head. Clad in only a dark grey pair of sweats, hit bare feet crunched chips on the floor. He stood defensively, hands pushed out in front of him, sporting a red, plastic broom, with the bristles upturned.

Alicia's face fell to confusion for a moment, before she dropped her knife closed at her side and took another step back.

"Who are you?" She asked, her voice the only sound in the cold room, besides the boy's breathy huffs and the low, whirring hum that was barely there.

"Who are you?" He repeated, voice stressing the last word a moment. He still held the broom poised like a make-shift shield in front of him.

Her brow furrowed a moment. "What were you going to do? Sweep me into a dustpan?"

The boy faltered a moment before slowly lowering the broom. He spoke, answering her first question. "I'm Beckett. Beckett Scott."

"Scott Farms," she nodded in return. "I'm Alicia." She brought her hand to her chest, tapping lightly as she spoke her own name. "What are you doing down here?"

Beckett looked up the incline to her, "I could ask you the same thing. This is my mom's lab. My family's farm. And yourself?"

"I-I stumbled over the hatch, in the Orchard," she said, unsure of just what information to divulge. "I, I should actually go," she voiced, thinking of the world upstairs. She wasn't sure about the situation. But, she knew she couldn't tell her mother. She needed to hide this until she found out what it really was. Who he was.

Beckett stepped forwards, reaching a hand towards her. "Please," he began, letting his arm fall to his side, "I haven't spoken to anyone in months. I've been stuck in here. What's going on out there?"

"Just, stay down here. I need to go. But, you need to trust me," Alicia offered to him.

The boy looked slightly taken aback. "I can't come out? But, this is my home?"

"Things are different now," she reasoned. "I don't know what my mother would do, if she found out about you. About here. I need some time to figure it out. But, please, can you trust me on this? I'll explain, I promise. Just wait down here. I'll come back."

Beckett rubbed the back of his neck. "I mean, I've been down here forever. What's a little bit longer going to do?"

"Thank you," Alicia spoke, "I'll explain everything. I'll come back. Soon. I'm not going to lock the door like it was. So, I'm going to trust you to keep down here, until I figure things out. But, I'll be back, when night falls."

"I don't even know when that is," Beckett sighed. "But, okay. Just, please, don't forget about me down here."

Alicia nodded to him and swiftly turned, crossing the room and exiting the door, pulling it closed behind her. She didn't turn the dial. She climbed the ladder and shut the hatch behind her.

Covering the entry with the dead leaves she had peeled away before, Alicia stood and brushed her hands off.

She grabbed the blue crate that lay close by and toted it with her. She didn't need a marker in the area to alert others. So they may not stumble upon the hatch like she did.

Alicia made it to the main path of the Orchard. She jogged up toward the farm, dropping the crate next to the dilapidated scarecrow and turned for the fields. The jog shifted into a sprint as the crossed the farm to the outlying shop.

She had to find Amelia.


	36. Drugged

Nick made it back to the Bazaar with a good dollop of specimens bobbing around in his cart. He'd found a few more on the walk back from the park.

Now, he slid the cart along the dirt of the Bazaar, following hallways down and eventually coming up behind El Matarife's.

Nick pushed the buggy up against the empty end of the bar. The older man walked over and examined it's contents, deciding six of them were fresh enough. "Good run, mijo."

Nick smiled at him and nodded, before pulling the cart back and out of the bar. He pushed it through the corridor and out onto the concrete walkways of the arena surrounding the whole Bazaar.

Using the handi-cap ramps, Nick pushed the cart as far up as he could, even dragging the cart up a few step levels, until he reached the top of the stadium.

When he reached the top, he leaned upwards and perched himself looking over, out onto the expanse of the back parking lot. Then he began throwing heads.

He didn't want to leave them inside, let them continue to stink up the already smelly depths of the trade center. But, he didn't feel like going back out. One after another he tossed them over the edge. The last four, he tried to be more precise. Make them go splat in the same spot. He got two of them within a foot of each other. And that made him feel accomplished.

Nick clapped and rubbed his hands together before dragging the cart loudly down the steps of the stadium. Once he reached the bottom, he tucked the cart into a corner and headed towards the bathhouse.

He swung his arms back and forth as he walked. Something to do. His stomach growled audibly. 'You need to eat, Nicky,' he heard Troy's voice in his head. 'Put something on your stomach, Clark.' Nick laughed and turned into the bathhouse.

He crossed the wide space to a large, janitor's sink. He flipped the handles and it took a few moments before the pressure built up.

Nick peeled his bloody shirt off, it stuck dry on the skin in a few places. He tossed it in the basin, directly under the spray of water and watched as the water drained pink. After it was rinsed seventy-five percent of the way he rung it out some before dirtying it again, using it as a wash cloth.

He ran the wet shirt down his chest, rubbing the dried blood away. He shoved the shirt back under the flow of water, rinsing it again before using it to wipe down his face.

Finally, he stuck his head under the faucet and scrubbed at his scalp, washing the blood from his hair. He finished with a few handfuls of water thrown on himself; the water beading and rivering in lines down his bare chest. It pooled at the bottom of his stomach, against his basketball shorts and the top of his jeans, dampening them where they hung on his hips.

He re-rinsed his shirt for the umpteenth time, twisting it in his tan hands as he wrung the water out. When it was half-dry he slid it back over his head. It clung to him in places, as wet skin met damp shirt.

He shook his head, letting water fall from his hair before brushing it back and exiting the building.

Nick's stomach growled again and he turned towards the vendor stalls. He bought three raw chicken breasts, freshly cut from the hen, and he remembered Serena.

He had bought a few days in the kitchens so he made his way towards the blue awning in front of the concrete rectangle that made up her 'stall'.

She sat at the same desk as before, legs perched onto the corner. She had a pair of dark brown sunglasses on and she was leaned back, arms crossed over her chest.

Serena tilted her shades down as Nick approached. "Go ahead," she nodded at him, jerking her head towards the door as she noticed the plate of chicken he carried.

Nick smiled and nodded at her as he walked past. She slid her sunglasses back up.

Once inside, he found the necessary utensils and seared them in a pan, giving the outside a dark char so he would know they were fully cooked.

He finished and found a few Styrofoam plates under a counter. He slid two of the chicken breasts on one plate and the other on the second. After a few minutes, the chicken had cooled down enough and Nick picked one of the pieces from the first plate. He started to scarf it down, as fast as he could. He knew he needed to eat, he just didn't have the want to. It came and went. So, he finished the chicken breast quickly, not even bothering to taste it. At least now, he had eaten. He felt if Troy knew, he'd be proud. And it made Nick blush slightly as he exited the concrete rectangle.

Once outside, he plopped one of the plates down on the desk where Serena sat. She lifted her black boots from the corner of the table and leaned back into her seat, removing her sunglasses. "What's this for?" She asked, her southern drawl thick.

Nick only shrugged his shoulders.

"You've paid for use of the kitchen. I didn't pay you for this."

Nick half-smiled. "I just wanted to thank you. You were generous. You didn't have to give me that deal. Or even cut a deal with me at all."

"I said I liked the look of ya and I meant it," she returned, leaning her elbows onto the desk before her. "You got an old soul. Its rare."

Nick wasn't sure exactly what she meant but he nodded anyway.

"So how exactly do you know Victor?" She asked him. She then moved the plate to the other side of the desk and waved her hand, inviting him to sit there.

Nick obliged and sat the other plate next to hers before leaning onto the edge of the desk. "I met him in a lock-up of sorts. In the beginning. It had been, maybe a few weeks since it started. He had a boat. We spent some time on it, going down the coast of Cali."

She watched him with intrigued eyes.

He continued, "He took us through Baja. That's when we met Thomas, for a short while. But, after that I left. Made my own way for a bit. We all found each other again. Then split. Again. Now. We're on the together side of the fence. But, another split will happen eventually. It always does. Strand has taught me a lot, though, honestly. And I can that I wouldn't be where I am if not for him guiding me."

"Sounds like Victor. Maybe what he needed was a protege," she said back, "I just hope you haven't gained his ruthlessness. He's a sly one, Victor."

Nick nodded. He completely agreed. He was conniving, and slick and clever and mischevious but it was all for the sake of survival. "You're more than right," he conceded, leaning off of the desk. "But, whatever the problem, he finds a way through it, or around it. And that means something nowadays, you know?"

"It does," she replied. "You just have to watch it, or else you'll lose yourself. Some things you can't come back from. That's why I'm glad I'm here. I been in this spot, basically since this place came about. I'm not much one for fightin' and I'm glad I can sit here. In the middle of all these people. In this big concrete ring. Safe."

"I know what you mean," Nick replied easily, because it was true. "If I could stay in, avoid all this," he waved his hand dismissively behind him. "I would. I only go out when I know I can be invisible."

"Invisible?" She questioned, leaning up in her seat.

"Another tale for another day," Nick said, smiling. He retrieved the plate of chicken that was for Lucianna. It had gone cold, but he didn't care. "I'll come by again tomorrow."

She nodded at his exit and began poking at the chicken on her own plate.

Nick turned through the crowd and found his way to his room. When he reached the doorway, he toed it open with his well-worn boot.

Lucianna sat perched in the armchair closest to the cots. She had Strand's folder spread out on her legs, eyes flitting between the pages inside.

"What are you doing?" Nick asked as he entered, sliding the foam plate onto the little table in between.

"Just passing the time, Nick," she began, sitting up from her seat and returning the folder to the table next to the chicken. "I was seeing what would interest Strand so much about this place. What it contained. But, a lot of it is, uh, just blacked out. It's confusing."

"Blacked out?" He questioned, sliding into the chair across from her and lighting a cigarette. He picked the folder up himself and thumbed through it. Pages after pages, black bars tearing up bits of articles. Redacted. That's the word Lucianna was looking for. But, why would a farm have to cover up information? He sighed. "Doesn't matter," he answered himself. "It's for Strand to worry about." He motioned towards the plate of chicken. "That's for you."

Lucianna nodded towards him and retrieved the plate. "Gracias, Nick."

Nick only nodded, though she didn't see it. He took another drag from his cigarette, tapping ashes onto the dirt floor.

Lucianna had finished half of her plate when she spoke. "So, why did you stay here? With Troy. Keep him around, after the things your mother said he had done?"

Nick took a deep breath, she had unknowingly struck a nerve. She had no place. His mother had no place, even speaking of Troy after what she had done. "That's not any of your business. Don't act like you know anything," he spat and stood. He felt a small bit of guilt for blowing up on her when a crease formed in her brow and she sat back. But the weight of his animosity towards his mother, and Luci for even trying to delve into it when it was not her problem, outweighed the guilt.

He left the room and headed for the bar. When he reached the arched doorway he flicked his cigarette butt into the dirt at his feet before crossing the threshold.

Nick slid onto a barstool across from El Matarife. "Why did they have to show up here? Come back in and screw everything up?"

The older man studied the boy. "You're referring to your mother? And her people?"

"Yeah, like, could they not? We were fine! We had a good thing here, together. And then Madison Clark ascends from the darkness again. To fiddle and play and act like everythings a game and everyone else is a pawn."

"I understand you, mijo. You had things figured out. Then things spun back out of control. It's inevitable. But, you have to find a balance. How much you can withstand before it starts taking a toll on you," El Matarife advised, meeting Nick's eyes.

"None of it! I don't want to withstand any of it. She came back in and after a day, we're separated, she sends me back here for days with my ex and now I have her questioning why I'm around Troy. It's just too much. We were good here. Just us." Nick fidgeted with his fingers. "And how day she question him? Even through everything he did, everything I did. He didn't leave. He didn't lash out and run off. But she did. How does she have the right?"

El Matarife placed a calloused hand gently on Nick's shoulder. "I know, mijo. You just have to push past it. Forget about things from before, for they do not matter. What matters is what you do with what you have. And right now, you have a girl who knows you, or at least knew you. And she is confused. And it may not be her right to ask, her right to know. But, it is your place to tell her. You don't have to tell her everything, or anything for that matter. But, you can at least tell her. How you feel now."

Nick nodded, understanding bits and pieces. Luci had a right to know how he felt now. Who he felt for. "I'll talk to her," he conceded. "But, I need a little push. A tablet of courage," he laughed as he reached for the baggie in his pocket.

El Matarife leaned back from the bar and produced a shot glass, filling it to the brim with an amber liquid.

Nick popped a few pills into his mouth and hoisted the shot into the air in a 'cheers' gesture, spilling a little on his fingers. He downed the small glass and dropped it back down onto the counter. Nick licked the leftover liquor on his fingers.

El Matarife laughed and walked down the bar to a few noisy customers.

Nick leaned off of the barstool, crossing the room. He sat in a low, deep-back chair. Sunk in it. It was comfortable, it was worn. But, it was snug and relaxing.

He sat there long enough, until the pills started to seep warmth from his temples, and warm blank liquid flowing through his brain. He stood, wobbled a bit then took off to his room.

Nick burst through the door. Lucianna sat, nose buried in a book she must have gotten from one of the stalls. He had left her a ring of credits. Nick couldn't read the title, his vision was blurred from the drugs, the distance, and the fact it was in Spanish.

She looked up at his entrance, but he didn't give her a chance to speak.

"You asked about Troy? Don't. It's not your place and it's not your concern. But I will tell you about you. About the girl who ran."

Lucianna didn't answer, she just stood and slowly sat the book down, crossing her arms, letting him berate her. She knew he would explode, sometime, needed to. She was just waiting on when.

"The girl who whispered sweet nothings in the night. Fought with me against the dead during the day. Helped me lead our people away. The girl who stressed our co-dependance, yet up and run. You left me. And my heart went with you. It took me weeks, months to get over it. Get over you. You can't waltz in here and expect anything. You can't expect me to just care. To not care. You left!" Nick was tearing up now. The brain fog pushing tears out. His chest hurt. His heart ached. He searched for words. "How do you have the right? To come back in and make me question everything I know? How can you still have so much pull over me after everything you've done?"

Nick rubbed his face hard. He didn't know what else to say. He just wanted to go to sleep. Wake up back to a few days ago. Lock himself and Troy in this room and they wouldn't have even known Madison had arrived. Wouldn't have ran back into Lucianna. Wouldn't be sifting through all these different emotions he harbored towards her. Trying to find out why, just why he wanted to walk closer to her.

The tears were free-falling now. He couldn't understand his emotions. Didn't want to. "But I find myself still caring. Even after everything and damn you for that, Luce. Damn you. I moved on. I found my own way out of the black. And you swoop in and with every breath I take the air thickens and my throat constricts and I just can't figure it out. Why did you do this to me?"

Lucianna walked towards him, slowly, cautiously pulling a hand up to cup his face. She felt his tears and Nick's eyes closed, leaning into her hand.

When he opened them, it was only fire. And he didn't see her. And he didn't see the room they were in. He only felt. Felt her familiar skin on his, felt the ache of need in his core begging for release.

He jerked himself forward, no turning back now. He grabbed her face roughly and pushed her back a few feet, his lips colliding on hers, hard. Tears were still making their way down his cheeks but he didn't care. He kept his eyes closed. He only ached for release and nothing more.

Nick shoved her onto his cot, ripping his shirt over his head. He crawled on top of her, kissing his way down her jaw, eyes shut again. Not seeing, only feeling. And the brain fog helped there.

Then, he took her, in the heat of the night, in the darkness of his room. And he had no second thoughts. Because the mind is a powerful drug, so were the pills he swallowed, the alcohol he drank. And it all helped him get through it. Because in his mind, it was not Lucianna in his bed.


	37. Growing

Boots thudded loudly against wood as Troy tromped down the narrow hatch of the dome. He had a wide array of papers and folders from the desk, shuffling in his hands.

So far, he hadn't found anything of note about the fence. It was odd; if someone had gone through the trouble of fortifying this fence and running all of those lines, hooking up solar panels, why wouldn't it be documented? Bragged about? But, maybe that was just him. Always documenting.

He vaguely recalled his notebook, lying abandoned on his bed. His fingers twitched, itching to write. But, write what? The only thing of import was this damned fence. But, he had no findings to share to the pages. No facts or reasons. So, what would he write? 'I found a fence. It's weird. It has wires and solar panels and its anchored to the ground.' Just observations. He needed more.

Troy made his way down the wide staircase and out of the building. The Gator was still parked, haphazardly, in front of the entrance. He looked up from his stack of papers as Amelia approached.

"Hey," she started, breathing slightly ragged, walking closer to he and the side-by-side. "Did you get finished with the socket set?" Her tone was polite, but her eyes were bored as she plucked a small leaf from her auburn hair.

"You sound out of breath," Troy noted, smiling and tucking the stack of folders under his arm.

"I was with Alicia," the girl began, then paused, brow furrowing for a quick second. "In the Orchard! We were gathering apples," she finished quickly.

"Hey, now," he began, setting his free hand up in mock defense. "Ease your mind. I'm not judging."

Amelia's face blushed furiously and Troy was certain about the pair then. He chose to take the higher road, not embarrass her further. She seemed quite bashful. "In the back," Troy nodded towards the Gator.

Amelia, arms crossed, nodded back and swiftly shuffled to the rear-end of the vehicle, retrieving the plastic case. She popped the clips on the front and opened it, frowning slightly. "Where's my ratchet? And the 10mm?"

Troy's eyes searched the air around him for a moment as he sifted through his head to discern their location. "Ah," he breathed, digging into his pocket. He produced the tool and held it out for her.

Amelia took it, smiling and set it neatly back into the case. "10mm's are like the BIC lighters of shops. The reason they put little chains on pens in banks. They seem to walk off a lot." She laughed, realizing she was ranting a bit. About a socket.

"I hear ya," Troy agreed, sitting his stack of papers down onto the seat of the ATV. "I, myself, am a notorious pencil thief. I'm not ashamed. So, beware of the high probability that random office supplies may vanish."

They shared a laugh and, with a last wave, Amelia grabbed the tool set and disappeared behind the corner of the building.

Troy shook his head to clear his thoughts of the fence. No progress imminent, it seemed. So, he abandoned the files and started off towards the Cannery building. He hadn't yet gotten the chance to fully explore this new place, so he felt the building that housed the food was a good place to start. His grumbling stomach agreed.

Troy rounded the corral that sat in the center of the three main structures. The main building, 'Mayor's Manor' he coined in his mind, chuckling, the Cannery, where they processed and packaged the fruits and veggies, and the barn building, which was self-explanatory.

The Cannery, like the Barn, was equipped with a large bay door, and to it's left was a smaller, single-door entrance. Troy turned the warm knob and stepped inside.

In the interior, there sat a few rows of multi-colored machines, lines of conveyor belts. A few large, bowl-like containers sat against the back wall, reminding him of the vats in movies. To the left, a set of metal stairs ascended to a small control room looking out over the area. Behind it, a metal walkway leading to what Troy gathered as the minute living quarters Madison had spoke of.

Speaking of Madison, she sat perched half-way up the stairs, lightly peeling the label back on a mason jar that seemed to house diced peaches. "Find anything on the fence?" She questioned, looking up at Troy a moment before turning her eyes back to her fruit jar.

"You know how when you say or think about a word too much? And then it stops sounding like a word? That's where I'm at with 'fence.' "

Madison cracked a smile, still looking at her food. Troy stepped forward and leaned against the edge of the stairs' banister. He sighed, "No luck."

"You hungry?" Madison asked, looking up at him.

Troy considered this for a moment, found he kind of was. "Famished," he replied.

Madison didn't speak again, just shifted position and pulled her knees apart slightly, leaning down in between them. It was then Troy noticed the carefully stacked cardboard sleaves of mason jars butted up against the underside of the stairs. Madison reached through her legs and produced two different jars. She turned them, label out, and held them as offerings. 'Scott Farms' emblazoned along a white backdrop. "Peaches, or pears?"

Troy scrunched his nose, debating. "Pears," he relented after a moment.

Madison nodded and slid one of the jars back under the stairs. She leaned up and Troy stepped up a stair to meet her as she handed him the jar. Troy's long fingers ghosted against Madison's on the glass container before he pulled away. Quickly. And he spoke swiftly, to deter the confusion seeping into his brain at the slight touch. "Since I'm not getting anywhere with the fence. Do you want to sow me the crops? How everything's growing?"

Madison nodded, not meeting his eyes as she stood from the steps. She picked up her peaches and began walking across the large room. Finishing the contents of the jar, she dropped the glass easily into a plastic bin. "Follow me," she said, leading him out of the door. Madison immediately turned to the right upon their exit and Troy shadowed her, unscrewing the cap on his jar of pears.

They walked in silence a minute or two, Troy steadily using his index and middle finger to shovel diced pears into his mouth. Madison stopped in the middle of the road leading to the main gate. There were fields on either side of them now.

"We have turnips, squash, tomatoes, okra, wheat, bell peppers, potatoes, and more. We have daily shifts tending to the fields but it seems I have more luck with the fruit trees," she stated, looking at Troy surveying the area.

Troy twisted the lid back on his jar and slid it into an over-sized pocket on his black cargo pants. He stood straight and set his hands on his hips, stepping over the turnrow into the field to their left. He stood there only a moment, scanning the rows before turning back and stopping beside Madison. "For one, your levee gates are too high. The water can't pass through to the other rows." He walked around her, and she turned with him. "Have you ever thought of hanging the tomatoes?" Troy continued across the road and went a few yards out into the opposite field. Rows of cage wire lined blooming tomatoes.

"Hanging tomatoes?" Madison questioned, skeptically, crossing her arms over her chest. She observed the young man in front of her curiously.

"Exactly like it sounds, Madison. Come on, I'll show you." Troy walked over to a tomato cage, and in one swift, shimmied movement he uprooted the plant and cage. He turned it sideways in his grasp to support the roots and deter the plant from sliding out of the wire. Troy jerked his chin for Madison to follow. His long legs carried him quickly back up and around the corral. Madison struggled to keep his stride. He stopped when he neared the Mayor's Manor and spoke. "Do me a favor?" He nodded towards the line of potted plants in the front of the building.

There were plenty to choose from, but Troy kicked his boot at a fern in a plastic black pot. Much more lightweight than that of the other, orange clay pots. Madison took his cue and lifted the fern from the ground, dumping it's contents.

Troy shifted the tomato cage in his hands as he grabbed the pot from her. She watched him quietly and he was vaguely aware of her appreciative stare. "If you invert the tomatoes," he said, sliding the pot onto the rooted end of the plant. "It forces the nutrients downwards. Instead of the plant having to work for it, sucking it up, gravity does it's thing and it grows better. Certain crops will yield more, faster and bigger."

He turned the plant upside-down and fastened the wire cage through the groove holes on the pot. He fashioned a hook from the handle of another pot and used it to clasp the inverted tomatoes onto the outcropping of the door. "If it doesn't rain much, you just gotta pour water through the holes in the pot and presto, you're on the fast track to bigger and better 'maters." He laughed. "Twice as big, twice as many, twice as fast." He laughed again and a broad smile lit up his face as he turned the hanging cage around in his hands.

"So, we should just uproot all the plants and string them up?" Madison asked, looking to Troy.

"Not necessarily. Some fair better than others. And some do great with hydroponics," Troy replied, turning his attention to her. "But, we do need to dig out some of those levee gates so the water flows more freely."

Madison bobbed her head in agreeance, "There should be a few shovels in the front of the barn. We can grab those and take the Gator around the fields."

Troy began walking towards the barn, but turned back at Madison's voice, setting his hands on his hips and scrunching his nose a bit.

"And Troy?"

He met her eyes.

"Thank you."

He nodded and turned, quickly continuing his trek towards the barn. With each step, he was glad to feel the weight of her mossy green eyes fade.


	38. Regret

Nick's eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim light slipping in his room. He blinked himself awake. There was a pressure on him, and upon looking down, he found a sleeping Lucianna. She was folded up on him, their legs entangled and her bare chest on his equally bare one. Her long black hair lay in waves over them both.

Nick took a deep breath before slowly untangling himself from her. He didn't chance another breath, just stayed as silent as he could as he slipped out from under her.

When he stood, his eyes went directly to Troy's empty bed across from them. His hands found his way to the back of his neck and he rubbed it hard. He couldn't believe himself. After all the fucked up shit he's done before, this just may take the cake. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing deeply through his nose, attempting to force the growing nausea he felt to subside.

He turned back and collected his clothes that lay strewn about. His back ached from laying as straight as a board, and his chest hurt, for reasons beyond that. The second he pulled his jeans on, he grabbed his shirt and boots and high-tailed it quickly, but quietly out of the room.

Nick stopped in the hallway, leaned back against the metal door. He tried to let the cold from the surface seep through his back and numb his insides. Numb his feelings and thoughts. But, it didn't work that way. He dropped his boots to the ground and slipped into them, sock-less. He started towards the bar. After another few yards he slipped his shirt over his head and rounded the corner through the doorway.

El Matarife stood, with a stained rag, wiping literally nothing from the scratched and dented surface of the counter. He stopped when Nick neared, not pulling his stool as per usual. The older man could tell he was off. "What's bothering you this morning, mijo?"

Nick took a deep breath, blowing out hard. He found he was trembling and was thankful it was minute and barely noticable, but it wasn't. El Matarife was an expert in body language, and the boy in front of him was entirely distraught. Nick spoke, "I didn't go there to do that."

"What is it you speak of?" El Matarife questioned, taking on a slightly harder tone. Nick didn't notice. He felt a buzzing in his ears. The voice that drifted in was just that, a voice.

His stomach turned again and he lurched away from the bar, sprinting out into the hallway. Immediately after he crossed the threshold he doubled over, vomiting up what remained in his stomach from his light dinner. After a few goes with nothing but stomach bile, he dry heaved a few times. When he was sure he was finished, although the nausea never went away, he leaned up onto the frame of the doorway, setting his head against his forearm.

Nick stayed like that a few moments, waiting on the aching in his temples to ebb before turning back into the bar.

He pulled the stool this time, and El Matarife just waited for him to speak. After a few silent moments, he did. "I was just supposed to go off on her. Tell her what's on my mind and be done with it. Let her stew on it. But...it just, escalated. I don't know."

El Matarife leaned onto the bar, narrowing his eyes at Nick. His voice was definitely hard now. "Boy! Are you fucking serious?"

Nick looked down immediately, his brown eyes beginning to water slightly. "I didn't go there to do that, I swear," he repeated, voice breaking, a few tears spilling and plopping silently onto the bar below him.

The older man rubbed his face hard in disbelief. "How does it even go from that to that? And after what that boy's done for you."

Nick just listened silently, he knew he deserved this. Although it didn't make it hurt any less, hearing someone voice his own thoughts.

"From trying to divert your mother, to agreeing to go with her so you could reunite with your sister. Pitiful, Nick. Hell, he even threw away what he had left of morals and took the stems with you! For you! And that's just the things you know about." El Matarife couldn't help himself. He had grown attached to Nick, the boys in general, and he felt angered that Nick would act in such a callous way. El Matarife could see the struggle battling inside the boy. It wasn't helping, but now he had gotten it off his chest. He spoke again, his voice softer this time. "I know you didn't mean to. But, you did. Now you have to move forward. Continue on with what you want. And what you want. And what is it that you do want, mijo?"

Nick though about that for a moment. He wiped the dampness from his cheeks and sniffed hard. "I don't know. I just...I want to get to the Orchard and then I want to come back home."

"Work towards that, then," El Matarife guided, "But be wise until then, what you say and what you do from this moment on will affect things. And how you handle the girl is one of them."

Nick nodded, swallowing. It hurt; his throat was raw from throwing up and it felt dry and gritty.

El Matarife seemed to sense this and retrieved a bottle of water from under the bar, sliding it across to Nick.

Nick took the bottle, but he couldn't make himself drink the water. A little piece of his brain telling him his throat should hurt. He should hurt. So, he left the cap on.

"So, go back to your room and finish it. Before it escalates beyond last night," El Matarife finished definitively, leaning off of the bar and crossing his arms.

Nick did not argue, for there was no use. He was right. He had done a bad thing. A terrible, low, selfish thing, and it was his responsibility to nip it in the bud. He wasn't sure how he would handle it, but he was damn sure it wasn't going to be like last night.

What concerned him more was when he did get to go back to the Orchard in a day or so. He would have to face Troy. How would that work? Would he tell him? Or would he bury the truth? Would Lucianna out them? Or would Troy sense something was different? Figure it out anyhow? His head was reeling, and he felt the stinging pain slowly drift back to his temples.

Nick finally gained the sense to open the water, and he drank it down greedily, not sitting it back on the bar until three quarters of it was gone. He had found his resolve somewhere in that clear liquid. He wiped his face down again and blew out a long breath. He would find a way to fix this. He had done this, it was his mistake. Nick had made his bed and now it was time to...find a new bed, a small part of his brain chimed at him. He would face it. There was nothing else to it. He nodded to himself as he stood from the barstool.

Then, he nodded at El Matarife as he ducked out of the barroom, his face serious, eyes sure. Walking back to his room he went through his mind what he would say. By the time he reached the door, he still had no clue. Best to wing it, he guessed.

Nick opened the door with a new found confidence. He need to put this to rest, stop it in its tracks. He had been here before and it wasn't easy leaving it behind in the first place. He wouldn't subject himself to that again. But, Troy also didn't deserve that. They hadn't really, concluded anything about what was between them, but still. It deserved a chance.

Lucianna sat leaned up into the corner of Nick's bed, reading the Spanish book again. She had donned a white tank top and black boy shorts. She sat forward when he walked in and laid the book face down in her lap. "Nick, about-"

He cut her off, "Before you go on, let me stop you right there."

She tilted her head and creased her brow. "Okay. What?"

"Nothing. Let me just stop you there. There's nothing to discuss, so we'll just leave it at that. We're not who we used to be." With the last line, he was sure. He knew what he wanted. Who he wanted. It wasn't this. It wasn't her. And a small part of him tugged at his insides but he ignored it.

Lucianna took a deep breath but slowly nodded, scooting back into the bed and lifting the book back to her face, hiding a small tear that slipped down her cheek.

Nick turned and sat into his chair, sliding back into its depths. He perched his head onto his hand and closed his eyes, hoping time would move faster from this point, so he could get Troy and come back here, go on with his life.

(Intermission)

Night was falling quickly, and as hard as Nick had tried to forget he was hungry, his stomach hadn't. He couldn't ignore the ache anymore, and he knew Lucianna hadn't eat but a can of Raviolis around midday. He didn't want to eat. Besides his already bare palate, the events from last night permitted him to believe he didn't deserve to. That he would just not eat and take the pain in his abdomen as punishment. But, Troy wouldn't like that. He knew that, too.

So, barring his beliefs on it, he ordered he and Lucianna a plate of pork chops. The man from the chicken pen, his wife was an extraordinary cook. She even made her own sauces and dips.

Once he got their plate, retrieved a cup of sweet tea for Lucianna and they found a table, Nick practically inhaled a whole pork chop. Must have beaten some record somewhere. But, he left the rest for Lucianna. One was enough to quell the ache in his belly. That's all he really cared about.

"Sometimes the food here is asombroso," Lucianna said, tearing greedily into her second chop. She looked up to see Nick's confused gaze. "Amazing," she repeated, in English. "I forget sometimes, you know?"

He only nodded at her, a meaningless half-smile on his face. He tapped his fingers onto the plastic table in front of him, fidgeting. Nick heard the hum before the overhead string lights popped on. They lit up in succession, spreading from one side to another. Night had officially fallen. Oddly, the Bazarr wasn't as crowded tonight. People still milled about in large groups or pairs, a few singles here and there, but there was about thirty percent less in the population tonight than usual. Which was weird.

He ignored this and instead turned to the other side, looking through the stalls on his right. His face lit up in a smile as his eyes caught sight of the black metal ladder leading up to the small platform where Troy had taught him how to slide down. It made him feel good. Then he looked back at the table and Lucianna still sat across from him, eating. The feeling ceased to exist immediately and Nick grimaced. He needed to take the edge off. Or else he wasn't sure he'd make it through the next few days.

Nick dug into his pocket and Lucianna looked up, eyeing him curiously. He pulled out the baggie, his dwindling supply. Fingering the bag open, Nick popped three out and directly into his mouth.

Lucianna pursed her lips, but said nothing. What could she say? He smiled broadly at her and grabbed her plastic cup, holding it up in a mock 'cheers' motion before taking a swig and swallowing his tablets of unreality. "Ahhh."

Lucianna only shook her head and looked back down to her plate.

"Come on, Luce, what did you expect? I'd become a stand-up apocalyptic citizen? Like I said, we're not who we used to be." This time, the phrase held less weight, and it caused him to laugh, eagerly awaiting the inevitable brain fog.

Just then, a shot rang out through the plaza, the bustling sound slowed a bit. Then several more shots, continuing in quick succession. The sound of screams filled the center, echoing like a hollow log, as bodies began to drop.


	39. Gifts

Troy slung the shovel over his shoulder, standing up fully under the late afternoon sun. That was the last one. He and Madison had spent the last several hours digging out the levee gates in the few fields that required them.

It was tiring, and Troy belatedly noticed the thin sweat gathering above his brow. He brought his free hand up and absently wiped the back of his hand across his prespiry forehead, smearing a trail of dirt under his hairline. Troy stepped over the last few rows of the field and deftly hopped the turnrow leading to the road, the ATV and Madison.

The shovel landed with a metal clunk in the small bed of the Gator and Troy swung himself around the side and plopped down into the driver seat. He took a long breath and blew it out, leaning his head back onto the headrest. Madison was seated next to him, head leaned back the same, eyes closed. He wondered absently how exactly she could stand wearing the long-sleeved, white and blue striped button up she donned today. Hell, his own light-weight tee was damp in places and clinging to his ribs and upper back.

Troy yawned breathily and leaned up, turning the key in the ignition and revving the engine. As if one cue, Madison lifted her head and leaned forward, adjusting in her seat.

"At least we're done with that, now," Troy concluded to Madison, and himself. Farm maintenance was a handful, and Madison was only just beginning to realize the weight of it, the responsibility. Troy was already all-too-aware in regards to it.

Madison didn't respond, only looked at Troy for the first time since he had came in from the fields. She reached with her right hand and unbuttoned the cuff of her left sleeve, pulling some of the fabric down into her hands. In one fluid movement, she brought her hand up and wiped the bottom of her palm and inner wrist across Troy's forehead, immediately removing the off-orange dust he had spread about the length of it.

Troy didn't move, just creased his brow questioningly before ignoring the issue further and putting the ATV into gear, revving back towards the center of the little village.

When the shiny metal of the corral came into view, so did an unsettling scene, unfolding at the entrance of the Cannery. A handful of people stood under the open bay door, wild manuevering gestures, hands sporadically waving in the air around them, a few shaking their heads. A commotion.

Troy braked the Gator to a quick stop, dust billowing as the tires locked into place, ending the vehicle's forward motion. Madison and Troy were out of the vehicle in a flash, swiftly walking towards the band of people.

The Otto boy was the first to arrive, but Madison the first to speak.

"What's going on here? Anderson?" She queried to one of the men standing in the circle of ruckus.

The bickering ceased at her voice and all the people turned to her. A queen, questioning her subjects. Troy laughed, innerly, still surveying the faces, trying to make sense of the disorder.

Anderson spoke up, shaking his head vehemently. "The top-side belt broke, on the main puree machine. Most of everything goes through that, in some fashion. But, without the belt, the rotator cuffs can't align and pull the product through." The man spoke with disdain, choosing to look down instead of straight at Madison. It seemed he too, experienced knowing when to bow.

"Shut it down. You three," Madison dictated to the gaggle. "Go back in and turn it all off. Then hand-can everything that's still out, before it ruins. Anderson, you already only have about an hour I'd say before your shift change for the gate," she continued, squinting at the sun's placement in the sky above them. "The rest of you? Spread out. A few of you head to the fields and pick okra, the others can go into the Orchard and bring back a few crates of apples. Got it?" She had her hands on her hips, and her definitive voice settled over the crowd, eliciting nods from the group.

Troy stood with his left arm crossed over his chest, holding his other elbow, while his hand rubbed at the gruff hair on his chin.

The group quickly dispersed and Madison turned into the building. Troy followed easily behind, his legspan making catching up with her a breeze. She stopped in front of a large, cone and cylinder shaped industrial blender. The underside connected to a grate and conveyor. The assembly looked easy to distinguish the functions and while Madison was still looking, attempting to make sense of the metallic contraption, Troy gently slid her aside and stepped forward.

He leaned over the outer brace of the frame, pushing his arm into an opening between the bottom of the cylinder and the grate under it. After a few seconds, his long fingers latched around and pulled out the busted belt in question, still warm from it's previous friction.

"There she is," Troy spoke to no one but himself as he retrieved it, holding it out in front of him. It was a two foot belt, and the only solution he could formulate was to find a new one. That was the only solution.

"Amelia may have something like it, in the shop," Madison began.

Troy cut in, the idea already formulating as well. "I'm on it," he concluded, wrapping the belt in his hands and walking quickly from the building. He slid into the driver seat of the Gator, and pulled off as soon as the engine turned over. He made it to the outlying shop in under three minutes.

Troy slid out of the driver seat the moment he rolled to a stop and parked on the concrete pad outside of the large metal building. His eyes shifted to adhere to the light change within the shop and he found Amelia in the corner, welding a bracket on the front of the Tahoe. Troy put his hand out and jerked his head to the right and behind him so the flash from the welder didn't burn his eyes. After a moment, the sizzling stopped and he turned back.

Amelia lifted the shaded visor helmet from her face and shook a few loose strands of hair back. "Yes?"

Troy held up the belt in his hand. "Got a replacement for this?"

She stood and dropped her plastic helmet to the ground next to the SUV, walking towards him. Amelia lifted the belt from his hands and examined it; studied it's length and width. "Unfortunately, no," she admitted, turning it over in her hands. "What's it to?"

"Something in the Cannery," he replied, drawing his upper lip high and scowling slightly.

"Shit. I've got some 14 inches, and a few 17's, but nothing that comes close enough. This is a 24. I'm guessing it went on the food processor?" She questioned, handing him back the busted rubber belt.

"This 'puree-y' thing, I guess," Troy answered, "Any ideals on rigging it?"

She raised her shoulders, shaking her head slightly. "Honestly? Not really. I mean, I could stitch it back together with some 100 pound test line I have in a tackle box, but that's only temporary, if it even holds up to begin with. Best bet? They probably have one at the salvage yard. Or something of the sort."

Troy nodded, giving her a half-hearted thanks before retreating back to the vehicle.

He rolled to a stop near the far side of the corral, noticing Madison's figure, talking animatedly to Strand. No doubt telling him of the broken machinery.

"Amelia doesn't have anything that would work," he announced, walking up to the pair. "She said the junkyard guy may have, though."

Madison sat her hands on her hips and nodded.

"I'll go find Alicia, tell her what happened and send them on their way. Hopefully he'll have something to give the ladies that will allow us to continue this operation," Stand spoke.

Madison shook her head at him, crossing her arms a moment before letting them fall to her sides. "No, we'll go," she spoke to Strand, looking at Troy.

Troy swallowed, but nodded anyway. "Let me run back to the room real quick, then we can go." He walked off towards the Gallery before she could answer. Arriving at the building, he palmed the door opened and set off towards his bed. Troy dug through the contents of the back before retrieving his gun and holster from inside. He strapped in to his right side, through his belt loops and headed back to the corral. If he were going outside of the farm, he'd definitely be armed.

Making it back to the odd pair at the corral, he and Madison headed off towards the front gate. It seemed, Troy noticed, Anderson had already made it to his post, early. He let out a laugh. All these people, so controlled by the Clark woman.

"We'll take your car," Madison observed, noting the Camry in the lot outside the gate. "Since Nick and Luciana have the Suburban.

This caused and unnerving twitch to hit Troy's stomach, remembering Nick's distance, with that girl. Ugh. He'd do better, if he could just ignore it until Nick was back. But, the younger boy kept seeping into his brain. Recurring constantly. Sometimes a reprieve, the days between them were shortening, sometimes a stigma, that Nick was away with her. He groaned and quirked his lip up but said nothing as he rounded the car and slid inside.

Troy turned the key over and immediately rolled down all the windows, along with the sunroof, willing the sweltering heat to reside from the interior. Speaking of the interior, the dash was still all pulled apart, from he and Nick during their time on the ridge above Broke Jaw. Even though the day had ended in flames, the burning of his home, it was still a fond memory in his mind.

Madison appeared next to him in the vehicle. He was so lost in thought, in reminiscing, that he'd apparently tuned out the sound of the car door opening to his right. Immediately after getting seated, Madison noticed the bare dash, raised one brow but said nothing. Troy reversed the car a few feet, backing up from the fence on the left side of the gate, and pulled the car down the dusty path leading around the encampment, heading east towards the ridges set off in the sky.

After a few hours of mostly highway travel, Madison directed him down a pothole ridden road. It wound through a few of the small hills surrounding the furthest ridge, a range of medium sized mountains stretching north to south, separating vast areas of the local land.

Troy rolled to a stop when they reached a large, black sliding gate. It had the usual signs posted upon it: 'no trespassing', 'private property', 'violators will be shot, survivors will be shot again.' The usual. Troy laughed at this as he pulled his hands from the steering wheel.

A familiar ache began to seep into his left palm, a digging, stinging, ghost of a pain; the remnant of a knife taken in Nick's defense, and again, through the same wound, later, a remnant of...his vapid psychosis. He dug with his right thumb at the white scar in the center of his palm, willing the ache to subside, but if it didn't he would get over it, eventually. Like a phantom pain, but his ghosts can't hurt him anymore, just haunt him.

Madison was the first to exit the vehicle, and she continued forward until she was face to face with the 'private property sign'. She brought her hand up and used the side of her wrist, rapping against the sign, causing metal to hit metal in an incessant clank, clank, clank.

After a few moments, a buzzing sounded and the large gate and it clicked open, sliding noisily through the gravel at its base as it rolled open.

Troy, still in the car, apathetically awaited Madison's next directive. Surprisingly, she slid back into the car and motioned for him to pull through the gate. Upon crossing the threshold, stacks of compressed metal and junk cars came into view, lining the drive like a rusty, metallic entourage.

There was a bend in the gravel, and Troy stopped just the other side of it. A large stand stood in the middle of what seemed to be an intersection in the divisions of the junkyard, little paths here and there snaking to who knew what. The stand, which reminded Troy of a kiosk in a mall, sat atop a large pallet platform. There were two tables set up on them, a miscellaneous display of items strew along the tops. Troy and Madison exited the Camry simultaneously, walking towards the stage-like structure.

A man stood in the center, next to a portable screen, most likely battery powered, and Troy caught a glimpse of the now closed front gate on it.

"Madison," the man spoke fondly. He had a light northern accent Troy couldn't quite pinpoint. "Haven't laid eyes on you in a while."

"Charlie," Madison smiled back. "We had an unforseen, spur of the moment trouble. A belt busted on the food processor and I thought it best if I just came myself. Quicker than rounding up the girls.

The middle aged man smiled and made his way to the front of the platform, hopping down when he met the edge. "What size?"

Madison's brow furrowed a moment. She had no idea. But Troy did, and he voiced this. Not as much to help her out, but the farm needed the belt. "Twenty-four inch," he said definitively.

The man, Charlie, nodded at him. "I should have something, on one of the semis," he answered as he stepped back onto the platform. "You'll have to take it off, but let me see if I got a wrench up here that'll work, and I'll point you in the right direction." The man stooped by the front table and started digging through a large crate, metallic clinking sounding out from it.

Troy watched him for a moment, before something on the table above caught his eye. A handle, sticking out from a black, braided leather sheath. He walked up to the knife in question and plucked it from the table, turning the sheathed blade over in his hands. The handle was micarta, he recognized it instantly, though it had been stained navy blue. He popped the snap on the sheath and slid the blade out. It was even better than he anticipated. A short blade, that spiralled into a triple edge from the base to tip. He'd never seen anything like it.

"That's a JagdKommando," Charlie's voice brought him back to reality. He hadn't noticed the man had stood back straight and was now watching him with minor amusement. "A notorious tri-dagger. They named it after the Austrian special ops. Deadly. As the tales go, a team of seven surgeons couldn't sew someone back up after an encounter with it."

Troy looked in awe at the blade before him, he'd never felt so entranced by an object before. Maybe by someone, but not by something. Things were material. Things came and went. But this thing? He wanted to stay. "What do you want for it?"

The older man eyed him thoughtfully, rubbing at his chin a moment before answering. Madison stood silently just behind them, observing a possible trade in the making.

"How about that M1911?" Charlie started, looking down to the holster on the Otto boy's side. "Isn't it the A1? .45 ACP?"

Troy nodded reluctantly. The man wanted his gun. Would it be worth it? It's not like they didn't have more. A few handguns left from the bunker that were now in the trunk at the Bazaar. But, this one? He'd yearned for this gun since Humphrey Bogart toted one in 'Bullets or Ballets' in 1936. Even more so when Frank Sinatra carried the same model in 'Never So Few'. His thought process took a few moments, and still he waited before sadly, declining the offer. "Can't let the Colt go," Troy answered before reluctantly sheathing the dagger and setting it into Charlie's palm.

"You sure you don't want it?" Charlie asked, handing him a 9/16 wrench he had retrieved from the crate below the table.

"Yeah, yeah. I can't." The boy answered, taking a few steps back.

"Alrighty, then," Charlie pointed at a meandering path through the junk to his left. "Right through there, a white big truck, hoods up. The belt'll be right behind the radiator."

Troy nodded at the man and began walking towards the opening in the walls made of scrap. He twisted and turned the wrench over in his hands. The eighteen-wheeler in question came into view and Troy eyed a rusty microwave sitting at its base. He kicked it over a few feet and stepped onto it, looking down into what used to be the heart of the machine.

It took a few hard turns before the bolts holding the belt-runner in place turned freely and after a few moments he had the leather band removed and was making his way back to the area Madison and Charlie were in.

They traded thank you's and goodbye's and Madison relented that she would be back with a double shipment in a few days for his help. Troy backed out of the drive with ease, pausing for a few seconds as the gate slid open behind them. When they reached the other side, he used the mid-size entry lot to turn around.

Shifting back into drive, Troy noticed Madison set something onto the console between them. Looking down, he found the JagdKommando.

"What?" He asked, unsure. "How?"

Madison didn't look at him, just gave a quick, small smile before looking out of the passenger window. "Don't worry about it."

Troy let the blade alone where it lay. He wasn't quite sure how she got it, or why. But, he had it now. And it exited him. He wasn't going to show it, so he left it alone. Otherwise Madison would have to drive back so he could play with it.

He smiled broadly, looking out the windshield at the road in front of him. Soon, they were back on highway, headed west towards the farm. And Troy was happy, truly, for the first time in days. Because, now? He had the dagger. And Nick should be back in the morning.


	40. Seige

p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"The incessant bang-bang pop-pop-popping continued. The bulblights overhead seemed to blur in Nick's vision and the chaos that ensued around him seemed to whir into one monotonous swirl. /p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"The screams and fearful howls that surrounded the pair melded into an angry buzz assaulting Nick's eardrums. In one swift movement he had stood, slightly stooping, keeping his head down./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Luciana's eyes were wide and glassy, her mouth frozen in a surprised oval. Nick grabbed violently at her form, snatching wildly for purchase. He found her shoulder and dug his fingers roughly into it. She made a small noise signaling her discomfort, but it was the least of their worries, as he dragged her through the stalls, a death grip on her canvas jacket./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"The crowd around them scurried to and fro, hollering through the shots. Nick couldn't see the shooters. Could barely place in which direction the bullets originated from. All he knew was the more he looked back, the more bodies he watched drop. Cold, dead eyes, full of fear, staring off into nothing, forever./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"When he finally made it past the last vendor stall and through the hallway, he forcibly shoved Luciana through the door to the room. After a few steps inside, her momentum, paired with gravity, brought her to the dirt floor. He didn't do it to be mean, or controlling. It was just faster and much much safer in here. Nick popped the lock from his belt look and clicked it into it's place on the door, before throwing himself against it, hard, sliding down to the floor and letting out a gigantic exhale. He rubbed his hand up his face and across his forehead, allowing for the newly perspired sweat to slick his roots back. Perfect, he thought, now is the perfect time for his brain fog to creep on./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"And what the fuck was happening?/p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Outside the door, Nick could still here shots every so often. The amount of screams had dwindled to only a few a minute, now. And Nick knew deep down, that that could only mean one thing. The sound of boots shuffled down the hall every now and then./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Luciana stayed completely still, half sitting, half laying in the dirt where Nick threw her. Every so often, Spanish phrases, paired with loud, thudding steps echoed through the hall outside of their door. Nick reached a finger to his lips, as if Luce didn't already know. They sat stock-still, the only sound emanating from the room was their combined, hushed breaths, along with Nick's heartbeat, thudding wildly in his chest as if it were to grow wings and burst out at any given moment. He swore his heart could be heard throughout the plaza with how hard it hit his chest. Well, what was left of the plaza, he thought dryly./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"The noise in the corridor grew louder, and Nick could hear the banging of metal doors being swung open, as if being hit with the butt of a rifle. The steps grew closer and Nick shuddered in a breath, leaning his back from the door./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"A few seconds later something hard and heavy came into contact with the other side, reverberating metallic knives in sound waves throughout the concrete room. The lock held./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"And Nick cringed, drawing his shoulders up and squeezing his eyes shut in preparation for the next attempt at the door./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;""Forget it!" A voice, thick in accent, thundered from beyond the entryway. "We are just here to clear, we'll pilfer later!"/p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;""Si!" A man, closer than the other, answered. And his boots shuffled away in the dust./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Nick let out a breathy sigh as his shoulders slumped, leaning softly back against the cold metal of the door. He shook his head, then his shoulders, willing the brain fog to expel from his ears and seep deep into the earth. He couldn't deal with this right now. Why did he have to take those pills at dinner? Why did this have to happen right after? Why?/p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Because, fuck you, Nick, that's why, he thought. A big cosmic fuck you. Because nothing can ever be easy./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Nick wasn't sure how long they sat there, in the dirt. Listening for commotion when the noise had seized. It could have been minutes, hours, the whole night. But something sparked in Nick. And he wasn't sure exactly what it was, couldn't pinpoint the exact though process. All he knew was that they needed to move. He needed to get out of here./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Back to the farm. Back to Troy./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Troy./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Troy would know what to do. Could fight his way out, with a smile, enjoying every second. God, he wished Troy were here. Nick pulled himself from the floor. Nodded to/p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Luciana as he held a hand down, pulling her up. He crossed the floor to the trunk at the end of Troy's cot. From inside, he retrieved two handguns, handing one to Luce and turning the other over in his hands./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"He pressed the release and allowed the magazine to slide out into his palm, full of ammunition. Nick cracked his neck as he jammed the cartridge back in with a click, cocking the 9mm as he turned to the door./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"For a moment before using the key in the padlock, Nick ran his fingers over the colorful paperclips at his wrist, taking a deep breath./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"He toed the door open slowly, sticking his head out into the corridor scanning both sides before waving with his gun for Luciana to follow. He turned down the hall to their left, slowly making their way through the dust towards the bar. The sight was something he could have gone the rest of the apocalypse without painting in his mind. Loungers and chairs bloody. Busted glass bongs and liquor bottles littered throughout the dim den. A few druggies, shot dead in their seats, in the wrong place, gone out of their minds to the point that Nick was happy for them. That they weren't fully there, when they were slaughtered./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"And El Matarife./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Lying in the midst of the room. Blood soaking through his stained wife-beater as it ebbed from his beer gut./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Nick took three good steps before hitting his knees next to the man, gun laying abandoned next to him. Luciana just watched./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Emmanuel was breathing, shallow and ragged and his hands weakly dug at the dirt at his sides./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;""No, no, not you," Nick rasped, tears stinging at his eyes. He reached down, grasping at a bloody hand, begging with everything he had in that moment that his grip could keep him here, in this place, on this plane, alive. But he knew it wouldn't be /El Matarife's glasses were foggy, and Nick took his left hand, sliding them up over the older man's face, biting back the tears to no avail./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;""Y-you need to go, boy," El Matarife coughed out./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;""I can't leave you," Nick begged, "Not like this." The tears were a freefall now, banging down on Emmanuel's chest, spilling into the thick red blood, running pink lines./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;""Go!" El Matarife thundered, then went into a coughing fit. Nick could tell it took all of his energy to give him that directive. He knew that he didn't have long. "Take it with you, all of it. The bastards can have me, but they can't have everything. My-my lockbox. Take it. Get away."/p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Nick opened his mouth to protest further, to instill any kind of effort towards convincing El Matarife that he could save him. But before he could voices sounded from the hall opposite them and Luciana made to grab at Nick. He jerked away from her grasp. The second time, she was more forceful and yanked him to stand, pulling him down behind the bar with her./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Nick watched through a few holes in the counter as a few men, clad in black shirts and grey pants marched into the room, fully automatic rifles slung over their burly shoulders./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;""Clear," one began to say, accent think./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;""That one, hes breathing," the second one noted./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;""Ah, let him turn. We need to get back, let el jefe know the mission is completed."/p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"The first nodded, "We'll be back in a day, to finish the dead. So I'll see you then." He nodded at El Matarife's stilling figure on the floor, a cheeky, evil grin spread about his dark face./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"The second man laughed. "Sombre negra will be proud of you, Cruz."/p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"They left the room, boot thuds receding./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Nick took a few seconds before making his way back to Emmanuel. His breathing was becoming more hollow, like it was harder to pull in the air. Time was dwindling. Nick dropped back down beside him./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;""I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," Nick blubbered, not fighting the tears. He didn't care. Didn't care of the saltwater dripping, the snot seeping down his upper lip. Didn't care about any of it./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;""It's okay, Nick," El Matarife answered. And the Clark boy knew that that would be the last time he'd hear this man say his name and a sob racked his entire body. "It's alright. I think-I think I'll go home, now."/p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Nick choked on the air that burned his lungs as El Matarife's eyes closed for the last time. He laid his wet face down on the older man's chest, not minding the blood that seeped onto him. Listening as the last breath of air left his lungs. His mind abstractly allowed him to unsheathe his knife and he turned it over in his palm before reaching up and slowly pushing it through Emmanuel's temple, never once picking his head back up. Why did he keep having to lose people?/p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"He fought to stand. Ignored Luciana completely as he crossed the bar floor, for the last time. Swung himself around the corner of the counter, for the last time. He grabbed a table cloth, dusty from misuse and draped it over yet another death he somehow could have prevented. Probably not. He retrieved a ratty old pack from under the bar and slid the jars he and Troy and got into it. Dumped the few trays full of different drugs into them. And he leaned down, retrieving the lockbox from under the counter, sliding it into the top of the pack. He snatched a few bottles of whiskey for good measure./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"And he walked out of the arched doorway, for the last time. Making his way down the hall in full silence, he dropped the sack to the floor in his room, and made to fill his last few remaining duffels with the clothes from the dresser and the food and weapons from the trunks. He hefted the bags over his shoulders, nodded at Luce silently to grab the other two. He left the room, looking back into its dusty depths, for the last time./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"They made their way slowly through the usually bustling plaza, now strewn with bodies and crimson tinged dirt. Walking through the stalls, he wondered how long it would take to grant mercy to each and every body in here, grant them the serenity to not turn. Too long. They wouldn't have time for all of them. Before they started to turn, or the men with the guns returned. And they would be trapped in this bustling mini-city turned graveyard. Then Nick stopped at a familiar star. Its blue awning shining slightly in the dim lights overhead. And he let his packs drop to the ground in front of it./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Luciana stayed behind, staring into the dark doorway as Nick made his way through./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"He walked back to the little office. Nothing but an abandoned desk, miscellaneous files. Completely loneliness greeted him./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;""Serena," Nick called into the darkness as he slowly walked back up the line of cook stations. A small bang sounded from somewhere underneath and Nick leaned down opening the metal doors on a roller cart. Her hair was plastered to her face with sweat and she had her head between her knees sobbing quietly, tucked away in the small counter./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;""Come on," he said, voice soft, reaching in and gently pulling her out. "I've got you." She fell into him, molded onto his side as he walked her out./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"She didn't say a word as he picked his bags back up, replacing his arm back around her and they walked out of the Bazaar, into the parking lot. Found the Suburban with the half-shipment of solar panels stashed into the back. And they loaded into the vehicle, Serena, shell-shocked, sitting in a makeshift seat in between the two front seats, leaning into Nick. Luciana drove and the puttered the SUV onto the highway, heading north towards the farm./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Nick didn't know what happened that night, still wondered, as the sun was breaking over the horizon. All he could see was El Matarife, battered and bloody on the floor before him. Hear the voices of the monsters that slaughtered the entire village. The voices. He turned to Luce./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;""What does sombre negra mean?" Nick asked vacantly./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Luciana just kept driving, looking out the dusty windshield. "It means black shadow."/p 


	41. Confusion

p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Alicia's knees ache as she bounds the last few feet up onto the concrete pad outside the garage. The wind whips her stray hairs wildly and they cling to the sheen of sweat gathered on her face. Her knees threaten to betray her as she takes the last few steps through the bay door. The tinking of metal escapes from her far left. /p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;""Amelia? Amelia!" She calls, throwing her voice into the back corner of the space. The clinking ceases, and next she hears the plastic-on-concrete roll of the mechanic's creeper. /p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;""Leesh?" Amelia returns, standing, visible now behind a large SUV. She brushes her hands down her sides and makes to walk around the vehicle. When her eyes meet Alicia's, she knows something is off. "What's going on?" She fires immediately, assessing the breathless demeanor and frantic eyes before her. "What's wrong?"/p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Alicia takes a deep breath before beginning, a shaky one at that. Why, oh, why did she have to run here? Amelia brings her hands up and lightly pokes her index finger onto Alicia's temple, slowly brushing away at the sweat dampened hairs that cling there. It leaves a streak of black grease. Neither of them care. /p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;""I- I found a boy," the Clark girl manages, still breathing shakily. /p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Her statement is met with a furrowed brow and a slightly bewildered look from the other girl. "A boy? What do you mean 'a boy'?" The crease stays in her brow and the confused look is prominent until it slowly morphs into...Alicia is not completely sure. /p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"She brings her hands up and clasps them on Amelia's shoulders, eyes widening as she pulls Amelia deeper into the garage. She searches the air around them before speaking again. This time a whisper. "I found a boy, in a hole." /p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"The bewildered look is back, along with a raised brow and Amelia literally pulling her neck back to asses the slightly taller girl before her. "To begin," she starts, pulling her hands up in between them, palms flat and parallel as she points them at Alicia. "Why are you whispering? And how big is the hole?" /p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Alicia shakes her head and purses her lips as a wry smile forms on Amelia's face. /p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;""I'm not kidding!" Alicia exclaims, shaking the girl gently. "I found a boy in a hole!" /p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;""Please, say something besides that," Amelia retorts, rolling her eyes. /p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;""I'll show you!" Alicia starts, beginning to pull the girl along with her. They cross the threshold out onto the concrete landing and Alicia notices the sun still high in the sky. She remembers then that she told Beckett she would come back when night fell. She whirls around, causing Amelia to stumble back a pace. "Tonight! It has to be dark. Meet me in front of the Gallery at dusk!" /p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"She doesn't give Amelia time to reply before darting off towards the center of the farm, leaving the girl amused and bewildered yet again./p 


	42. Soap

Troy could see the dust trail from the Suburban a mile away. He struggled to stay put atop the grated landing about the gate. He fought against climbing down and walking the road towards then until they finally met in the middle somewhere. But, what would be the point of that?

So he stood, carefully laying thin slices along the rusted edge of the gate with an old pocket knife. He had wanted to test the edge on his tri-dagger but was wary of dulling such a fine blade. The lines Troy etched into the metal reflected no pattern, though, no. Just straight, horizontal and diagonal lines some may say resemble a T here or and N there. But, he wouldn't.

As the dust cloud grew closer, Troy slid down the ladder, pulling out the pin along the way. It had only been a few days. A few days too many. Troy slid through the gate as soon as the opening would allow him.

The SUV rolled to a stop and Lucianna was the first to exit, helping and obviously disheveled woman out after her. Troy could see her mouth something to Nick before leading the woman by her shoulders toward the gate. She nodded at Troy in passing and reflexively he nodded back, catching himself and quirking a lip, turning back towards Nick. The door of the Suburban clicked open as Nick slid out from the cab. He seemed disheveled as well, Troy noticed, but that was almost stationary for Nick, always one step in between stages.

From where Troy stood, it seemed Nick was sporting his usual bloody makeup. But, upon further inspection, as Troy neared him, the Otto boy knew it wasn't. It wasn't his normal...normal?... rust colored camoflauge. It was splatter. It was random bursts of dried crimson painting his face, soaking and staining his shirt.

Troy quickened his pace and reached Nick in just a few steps. "What happened?" Troy asserted, grabbing Nick at the elbows and turning him side to side, studying him. Troy shook the younger boy to meet his eyes. Nick seemed searching. For words. For an explanation.

"The Bazaar was compromised," he said in a small, hollow voice. Nick looked down, "El, El Matarife, he-he uh..." Nick was almost gasping in between the words, trying to trap enough air to force them out. Troy pulled the younger boy to him. Nick buried his head by Troy's collar bone for just a moment before leaning back and taking a deep breath. He stepped back and removed himself from Troy, steadying his eyes. "And we may have even bigger problems than that."

Troy jerked his neck back slightly, a questioning look in his eyes.

"I'll tell you inside.." Nick assured, looking around warily, which only piqued Troy's curiosity even more, yet he nodded along. Nick and paranoia were no strangers. He slid his arm around the Clark boy and headed towards the gate.

"It sucks we lost our place, man..." Troy said absently. He cut his eyes down to Nick and added "And our people."

Nick leaned into his arm for a few warm seconds before righting himself and parting; dipping out from Troy's arm smoothly as they neared a small group forming in front of them. Troy told hiimself the cold in the space Nick had left was inviting.

As the closed the last few yards, they noticed Madison approaching opposite them. Troy saw the upset girl from earlier. She was standing next to Victor, head leaned onto his shoulder and two firm grasps on his forearm. He and Lucianna were talking hurriedly. When Madison finally entered the small half-circle, Victor turned to her.

"Who is this?" She questioned gesturing a forward hand towards the woman Strand harbored in his arms. Troy took this opportunity to step forward and turn back around. Now on Madison's left Toy could study the grl in question, as well. And why Nick brought her here. And just why she was nearly sobbing in the arms of Strand of all people.

"Mom, this is Serena," Nick spoke before the older man. "She ran a stall at the Bazaar before.."

"Before the guns..." Serena finished in a far away voice.

"Guns?" Madison fired quickly, turning her eyes to her son.

"The Bazaar was compromised," Troy filled in the blanks. Madison gave Nick a look that read 'we'll talk later'.

"Madison, this," Victor started, "Is Serena. She was Thomas' niece."

The woman's mossy eyes turned wary. "Thomas? But..we don't know her.."

"Mom," Nick began to object, but she silenced him with a quick palm in the air. She looked back to Strand to say more. But, he stood, opening and closing his mouth slightly. He had nothing more to offer her.

"Madison," Troy said slowly, sitting a hand on her arm and slowly using it to coast her hand back to her side. Nick's eyes lingered a moment, just until Troy let go but they darted back up to his mother when she spoke.

"Alright, but we are all meeting tomorrow about what happened there." She turned and headed back to the Mayor's Manor without a second glance. Troy watched her stalk away until her figure disappeared through the door frame. When he turned back, Strand had the woman, Serena, still under his arm, but t seemed he was leading her to the Manor, as well. Nick and Lucianna were speaking in hushed tones. Or rather Lucianna was.

"I'm sorry about your boss..." She said. Nick only nodded as she raised a hand to his cheek. She nodded back and turned towards the Cannery. Must be going to the living quarters, Troy thought. Or the deepest, darkest corner she can find to hang from the ceiling. Troy snorted invonluntarily, startling Nick.

"What?" Nick asked, sounding a bit lost. Troy just shook his head and gave a small smile, before he was hit with a realization. "My pencils!" He exclaimed. A sharp, too-high note for him, catching Nick off guard. He jumped. "What?" He repeated, still lost.

"I lost my pencils. They're all gone," Troy retorted, much quieter this time.

"Actually," spoke Nick slowly. He jerked his head behind him, hands in his pockets. Then he started off towards the gate. Troy followed politely behind. Polite enough not to bump into him; polite enough to quietly admire. But, he wouldn't say that.

It wasn't long before they were through the barrier of the gate. Nick opened the dual doors on the back of the Suburban. The dome lights popped on and Troy saw a plethora of different bags all piled atop about a foot tall stack of solar panel sheets. "What's all this?" Troy queried, pulling at the different fabrics of the duffels.

"A mix, lotsa different things," Nick began, "But also lotas (all of) our stuff." He groped at an olive colored bag and dragged it in front of Troy. Troy opened the zipper slowly, as if Nick could be playing a prank on him.

"Go ahead," Nick urged, unsure of the hold up.

The contents of the bag began with a nicely stained, dried bloody, and particularly rank tee shirt. "Oh, jeez, thanks," Troy sputtered, rolling his eyes.

"Sorry," Nick snatched the shirt to the side. Underneath it were crackers, clean tees, underwear, then... books and notepads and PENCILS. Delighted, he turned, "Thanks, Nick."

Nick shook hi head, feigning nonchalance. It wasn't long before Nick had rearranged items and bags and handed a small bag to Troy. Then he hefted two hulking duffels, using their weight to thud the hatch doors shut.

Naturally, Troy pulled the bags away and made Nick stumble a bit. But, Troy just chuckled and began walking towards the gate. Nick started to follow behind before second guessing himself and opting to grab El Matarife's box from the front of the vehicle.

When they arrived at the Gallery, Troy tossed all of the bags onto the lounger, trying to achieve some strained 'i'm not wore out from that' look. Nick smirked, which only caused Troy to scrunch his face up at him.

"I'm gonna go clean up," Nick stated, crossing the room to the small bathroom door.

"Let me wash you," Troy said absently, correcting his sleeves and looking out into the Orchard.

Nick's head spun back. Did Troy just say that? He looked at the slightly older, slightly taller boy, who stilled gazed out at the shapes of trees in the dark.

"Its a sink, Troy," Nick returned instead.

"Not here," Troy replied, nodding his head in the direction of the door. He palmed up a few different articles of clothing from one of the bags before walking out of the Gallery without a second glance to see if Nick was following. He was. Dumfounded and confused, yet all-too-intrigued, he padded along behind Troy in the night.

He led him towards the center of the buildings, on around the corral and straight into the metal door of the Barn. Never once looking back to Nick. He didn't need to see him. He could hear him. Could almost feel him. Nick, with furrowed brows, followed quietly. He watched the dim orange glow of lights in front of them as they passes through Troy's ever-lengthening curls. The bobbed about his head as the boys clambered up a few metal stairs.

Troy led him down a walkway and though a small, white, wooden door. Once inside, and the space was illuminated with a flick of Troy's wrist, Nick scoffed. "That's a sink, too, Troy," Nick observed, slowly putting his hands on his hips. It was an off-white square of a room, with a commercial-looking medicine cabinet-mirror about a large metal wash basin. A light blue toilet sat straight across from it.

Troy looked back, silently, then the corner of his mouth tipped up in a smile. Nick watched as he opened another door right across from the entrance. He heard a snap of a switch, then a soft chorus of hums began and light spread longways across the corners of the room. Nick noticed a few steps in from of Troy and he walked further, met with their reflection. In front of him was a more rectangular room. It had rain textured windows on the left and a mirror streatching the back and right of the walls. In the center was a large, plastic garden tub. It had a square shower head perched to one side by a faucet. Nick was sort of awestruck. He hadn't expected this. Hell, he hadn't really known what to expect in the first place.

Nick watched, mouth parted slightly, as Troy sat the clothes on top of a small table. he turned to a white plastic basked in the corner and puled out a light orange towel.

"What...What is this?" Nick questioned, gazing at himself in the mirror. He looked as awful as he felt, for sure. "Why is this bathtub in the Barn?"

Troy chuckled, laying the towel over his shoulder and leaning back to sit on the edge of the tub. "There's another living quarters on the lower floor n the back. But the ventilation needs patching, so the airs out. It's a hot bitch in there. So everyone bunks in the Cannery."

"Oh," was all Nick said in reply, still looking about the room. Trying not to fidget from nerves. Because he was not. No sirree. Nick was NOT nervous. Troy's sudden clapping caused him to jump.

"Come on," Troy coaxed, smacking his hands together twice more, "Chop, chop."

Nick shot him a confused look. That is...until Troy started unbuttoning his overshirt. Nick's eyes widened, but he kept them trained on Troy. When he got to the last few buttons, he slid the shirt over his head revealing a white v-neck tee shirt. One that happened to fit in all the right places. But Nick wouldn't say that, no. Troy then slid his boots off, pulling off his pants in quick succession. He looked up to a staring Nick.

"Come on..." Troy crooned, stepping over to Nick. He quickly peeled Nick's shift off, the younger boy just blinking up at him. Why didn't things seem to go in slow motion for Troy? They definitely were for Nick. He just stared as Troy dropped his shirt and crossed the room again. He dug in the basket a moment, tossing a few rags into the tub. "Do I gotta do everything?" He asked, half-heartedly and rolling his eyes. Troy moved back and began unbuttoning Nick's jeans. He started to shimmy them down before abruptly pulling away and leaning over the tub.

Troy pulled off his own tee shirt and slung it behind him. Nick quickly removed his ants after pulling off his boots and socks. Troy began messing with the faucet and motioned for Nick to get in .

Nick slowly pulled down his boxers, completely aware of Troy's eyes on him in the mirror across the room. Troy still had his arm under the water, testing the temperature, as Nick climbed in. He slid down the side and sat crosslegged facing the mirror. Troy stood suddenly, no longer watching him in he reflection. He went back in the vicinity of the basket and grabbed a small box from beside it. He made his way back over with the box and a rag in hand. The tub was holding some water, the plug wasn't in but a good bit remained with the faucet on, slowly draining, but filling faster. Nick sat with his hands in his lap, barely covering himself, the hot water lapping at his wrists.

They locked eyes in the mirror as Troy pulled the spout, redirecting the water through the showerhead in his hand. The water sputtered for a moment before Nick felt the hot beads start sliding down his back. Troy sling his legs over the side of the tub on either side of Nick. The younger boy felt long, warm fingers on his jaw. He looked up to Troy, coaxing his head back slowly, lifting the shower head. Nick leaned his head all the way back, closing his eyes momentarily as Troy rinsed his face. When Nick opened his eyes, he studied Troy. The way his tongue stuck out just over the corner of his lip. His eyes didn't meet Nick's, though. Troy's gaze seemed intent, focused on watching every drop of water run through ever piece of hair.

Troy's fingers felt amazing, mixed with the hot water and slight vibration from the stream of it. The flow became stationary and Nick hear Troy open the little carboard box, watched him slide out a little green bar of soap from it. Troy was still sat on the side of the tub, his boxers slightly damp and his calves running along Nick's sides. Warm and slick.

Troy lathered the now wet rag, sliding the soap along it and spreading it throughout. Nick's back was smooth, Troy noticed, soft, as he slid the rag down Nick's spine, following the trail of soap with his other hand. He looked into the mirror as he dragged the rag around Nick's front, pulling it with a slight pressure up his throat to his jaw. Nick's eyes are closed in the mirror, his mouth parted slightly in a plump, pink oval. Troy rubbed the rag down each of Nick's arms, lingering his long fingers on Nick's. he cleaned his chest and for just a moment, dipped low on Nick's belly, brushing across the put in his legs. He quickly washed down each leg, following the underside back up and rubbing through the middle of each thigh.

Nick perked up. But he wouldn't say that. And Troy didn't take notice, instead he began slowly rinsing the soap off of Nick. After moving the showerhead around and using his free hand to chase bubbles down, Troy slipped off of the tub. Nick fought against making a noise of protest when Troy pulled himself up from the side, ignoring the stripes of cool air when Troy;s legs moved from his sides. Nick watched in the mirror as Troy set some clothes out and began to pass Nick the orange towel. Nick stepped slowly out of the tub, taking the towel from him. He was drying his face off when he removed the fabric from his eyes, Troy was stripping out of his own boxers.

He stepped quickly into the tub and reset the showerhead, turning in a semi-circle and wetting his body down. Nick could feel himself drying himself off, but it was mechanical. He simply watched as Troy lathered the soap bar in his long, dark locks, running the bar up and down his chest. Nick was fully clothed when he noticed Troy looking back at him.

"Feel better?" Troy asked, rinsing soap from his forearms. Nick nodded slowly. "You can go ahead and head back to the room. Would ya set out clothes in that sink on the way?" Nick nodded again, gathering clothes from the floor. "Oh, and I moved your fan. You can take it back. I wasn't using it. I just liked the sound," Troy stated.

"Okay," Nick said in a small voice. He was still reeling from his shower...bath? He deposited the clothes in the large basin. He left the room quietly and Troy watched him go, the outside door softly clicking shut behind him.

"Jesus, Fuck," Troy breathed, sighing audibly. He sat down in the tub and turned the hot water off, letting the now freezing water pelt his back. He crossed his arms on his knees and let the water slight down his goosebumped skin. It was good. He needed to cool off.

When Nick got back to the Gallery, hi brain was wildfire. 'Let me wash you..." Troy's voice echoed in his head. He sat down on his bed in a heap, stripped his jeans off. Before he slumbered off, he moved towards the lounger. He grabbed El Matarife's box and sat on the side of his bed. Another time, he thought, and slid the box under him, nudging it under the bed with his heel. He clicked off the small light and was asleep within minutes. He didn't even move the fan.


	43. Answers

Amelia huffed as Alicia pulled her quietly through the rows of the Orchard. It was the middle of the night and finally, finally, with hurried hushes, Alicia was going to fess up.

Amelia didn't ask anymore questions, just let her seemingly eccentric friend lead her through the trees.

"Shh," Alicia breathed as they neared a small opening in the rows. She looked around wildly, eyes piercing through the dark. She pulled her along, still, a warm hand on Amelia's wrist. Then she slowed to a stop. "We're here." Alicia dropped to the ground and started flinging her hands to and fro in the leaves on the ground.

Amelia's face contorted with confusion. Does Alicia need help? She's acting very wonky, the girl thought tiredly.

"Aha!" Exclaimed Alicia, allowing for a full up and down look from the other girl. Alicia worked quickly, moving the last dozen or so leaves before revealing a large hatch that sat atop the soil.

"What the hell is this?" Amelia questioned as she squatted in front of the metal contraption.

"I told you I found a hole!"

"To be more specific, you said you found a boy in a hole," Amelia quipped in return.

"The boy! Yes! The boy. He's here. In the hole!" Alicia's eyes were wide as she creaked the hatch open.

Amelia had no choice but to follow. Alicia had already disappeared into the square opening. Bracing herself with a last deep breath, the girl made her descent. After a few moments, small orange lights came into view illuminating a moist, concrete corridor. Alicia was already at the other end, pulling a large white door that resembled that of a Navy ship. Amelia caught up quickly, bounding the few steps to the end of the hall just as Alicia pulled the door.

It was dark inside, but the moment Alicia's sneaker made contact with the floor, the tiles lit and light cast about the pale room.

"What is all this? When did you find it?" Amelia fired the questions, looking about the room, examining the shelves before her. She turned back towards the door, quickly. "We have to tell your mom."

"No!" Alicia yelled. Then covered her mouth with a hand. "No. We can't."

"Why? I looks like there may be some valuable resources down here. Have you looked around?" Amelia stared at her questioningly, but didn't move towards the door.

"Beckett!" Alicia called towards a hallway opposite a white sectional. "Beckett!"

"What?" Amelia, caught off guard, raised her brow.

A few moments later, the light in the hallway across the room flicked on, and a boy close to their age surfaced, pulling a worn navy blue shirt over the top of grey joggers. He seemed to be waking up, eyes swollen a bit from sleep. "Alicia?"

Amelia crossed her arms and took a small step back. "Who is this?"

Alicia looked back to her a moment, opening her mouth to speak.

"Who is this?" Beckett repeated, rubbing the back of his neck.

Alicia answered Beckett. "This is Amelia. She's my...friend."

Beckett looked in between the two girls.

"How did you get down here?" Amelia questioned, crossing her arms again and stepping forward, next to Alicia.

"I've been down here," was all he replied, before dropping onto the white couch.

"How long?" Amelia rounded on him, standing above him at the end of the sofa. Alicia just watched as Amelia interrogated him.

"Six days before the world went dark."

"Before? What do you mean before?" She threw the questions at him quickly.

"I mean I've been down here for months. My mom and dad had to leave in the chopper and they put me and my brother in here. Told us they'd be back in a few days. A few days that has been nearing four months now," he returned, sitting up more on the couch.

Alicia walked over and sat down on the other end of the couch. Amelia moved beside her. "Your...brother?" Alicia asked, setting her hands in her lap. "I didn't know you had a brother."

"Had, exactly. Um, I'm not really sure how to say this. And I'm sure it will take some convincing, but just give me a chance to explain as best I can.." Beckett started. He turned towards the girls at the other end of the sectional and began the story. "In the beginning, we had a series of brownouts. We would lose power, just long enough that the generators didn't kick on, but we would have a few minutes of pitch black before the panels reworked the surge. During those times, Noah and I would play a sort of in-the-dark, tag-hide-and-seek. We knew this place inside and out, so it wasn't that difficult to navigate without the lights.

"About three weeks ago there was another surge; first one in a while and Noah was excited. It ended up being a short one. Only about a minute without power. But we didn't know that. I heard Noah roll off his bunk above me. Right up those stairs." He pointed back towards the hallway. "I'm not sure if he was going to fast, or he just missed a step, but next thing I know, as I'm sitting up off my bed, all I heard was thudding."

Beckett began to tear up then, just a small drop he wiped, sniffing hard. "And, uh, I came down and about halfway down the stairs the lights flicked back on. And Noah was, uh, at the bottom...I just, jumped down the last few steps. I couldn't get a pulse. He wasn't breathing. I picked him up and brought him into the lab," Beckett nodded behind them. "I started clearing off tables but when I went back for a pulse again, I knew what had happened. His neck was broken." Beckett faded off for a second.

The girls looked at him curiously, Alicia was fighting back tears at the story as well. "I'm so sorry, Beckett."

He nodded at her, never taking his eyes off of the floor. "But, I mean. That's not the end. That's not where you gotta believe me. His-his neck was broken. But..but he woke up. I don't know how and I don't know why. All I do know is after a while, I heard him slide off of the table. I looked up and he was standing in front of me. Just...standing."

Realization lit up in Alicia's eyes. Beckett had asked her what had happened on the surface. How would she explain why his brother woke up?

"He came at me. Like in a movie. Growling as if he was possessed or something. I pushed him away a few times. Yelled at him. But it's like he didn't even hear me. Like he wasn't even looking at me. I- I had no choice.."

"It's okay. You did what you had to do.." Alicia began before fully understanding.

"No, no it's not. I locked my little brother up. I threw him into the medbay in the lab. I can still hear him sometimes. Banging. I don't know how. I don't know if its real anymore or not. That's why I stay on this side of the bunker. I don't know how its possible..." Beckett continued. "There's no food in there, no water. Its been weeks and every now and again there is banging. A dull groan that's barely there. How could he still be alive in there after this time? With nothing to eat or drink? It's not possible. That's part of why I think it's in my head. That I'm just making myself hear him in there. I haven't stepped foot through the door to the lab since."

The girls shared a look, but it was Alicia who spoke, moving next to Beckett on the couch and setting a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looked over at her. "There are some things now...that are past explaining. What I can tell you. Is that your brother is gone. When everything upstairs went to shit, when the government stepped in, before they ran, there were people who died, but they...didn't stay dead. When they got up, they attacked people. And if you are bit, you turn."

"But, no one bit Noah?" Beckett asked, wide eyed.

"Its not for sure science or anything," Amelia offered, "but it seems that we are all infected somehow. If you die, you turn. As long as your brain isn't too damaged."

"Infected with what?!" Beckett hollered, standing suddenly, exasperated with all the new information.

"We don't know," Alicia answered.

"Well what caused it?" He fired at her.

"We don't know," Alicia repeated.

Beckett sat on the floor, putting his head in his hands. "And it's all like this now? Like...him?"

The girls nodded in unison.

"We need to go," Amelia spoke, checking her watch. It was now passed three in the morning on whatever day.

Beckett looked up fast.

"But, we will be back tomorrow night," Alicia assured, leaning down to squeeze his hand. He gave her a meager squeeze back. "It's much better down here, trust me."

"Is it?" He questioned, eyes lingering on the door to the labs.

"Just, don't go in there. We will help you handle it," Amelia told him.

"Handle it? It? Him. That's my brother."

"It's not that simple anymore, Beckett, I'm sorry," Alicia consoled.

He nodded but set his head back on his arms that were crossed atop his knees.

The girls shared on more look before exiting the room, climbing back up the ladder and walking silently through the trees back to camp.


End file.
